


Our Dæmons by Antavas

by silverlysilence



Series: Your, My, Our Souls [3]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, M/M, Multi, Slow Building Relationships, Steve Pins, Tony is Misunderstood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlysilence/pseuds/silverlysilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has learned all he could about dæmons; now, that knowledge has been captured within the pages of a seldom read book: Our Dæmons.   For those few individuals who have bothered to read the book, it has become their guide.  A guide to deal with their unique ability to see the unseen and learn about all about the Study of Dæmonology.  Tony just never thought it would be used by his teammates, who would put that knowledge to use to solve their problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dæmon Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Final part of Your, Mine, Our Souls verse. Hopefully, you all like the beginning. However, I really hate to say this, but this story will be slow to update. I don't have much free time on my hands, but I hope you all like the first chapter, so read on.

   _About the Author_  

 _Antavas and his dæmon, Rain, were born during in the early 1970s where they grew up in their family's ancestral house.  His interest in dæmons was encouraged at an early age by Antavas' s grandfather figure, Edwin J., and the man's dæmon, Goldwyn.  Upon the discovery neither Edwin nor his parents could not see the talking animals – only later would he learned were called dæmons – Antavas dedicated his early years to learning all he could about dæmonology with the assistance of Rain and her limited understanding of her species.  After studying dæmons for the better part of two decades and recording his findings, he spent the next few months attempting to educate the population of dæmons's existence.  Antavas came up short until he found a partner in Dr. S. Strange and Conjurous; the pair were able to help distribute Antavas research to those who needed it most._  

_After the successful launch of Our Dæmons, Antavas has devoted his time to other responsibilities while Rain has attended to her own responsibilities, namely her human.  They occasionally volunteered their time by giving lectures at Dr. Strange’s institute for the magically inclined and has given lectures on dæmons to those who have gained the ability to see the unseen.  As of 1999, Antavas and Rain have given just under 200 lectures at Dr. Strange’s institute.  However, Antavas has planned to give his last lecture on Dæmonology in 2000 to pursue other endeavors._

_~Our Dæmon_

_Page iv_

 

_©  1991_

* * *

Tony had been working diligently on his newest schematic for a prototype engine – which would run entirely off of a downgraded version of the arc reactor embedded in his chest – for the last two hours when his very tall, very blond, and extremely muscular teammate let himself into his workshop.  The man’s larger than normal dæmon stealthily slipping in behind the blond before the door could close and inadvertently separating the two halves of a whole.  Normally, the engineer wouldn’t have noticed the pairs' arrival in his workshop, neither with the way his music would blared through the surround-sound system as loud as JARVIS would permit – and sometimes louder if he felt like overriding the AI’s directives – nor with the way Tony himself would constantly flitter about in the middle of his lab designing on the HoloCAD. 

Tonight, however, was not like most nights Tony spent holed up in his lab.  Tonight the genius was designing out of pure enjoyment rather than out of necessity.  He didn’t need the loud music and the constant moving about to act as stimuli to prolong his conscious state.  Thus, the lab was silent and he was actually sitting at his rarely used, if battered, desk in the back of the workshop.  A position which gave him a clear line of sight of the entrance, and Tony immediately took notice when his teammate walked in and looked around the lab, assumingly looking for the genius himself.

“Back here, Point Break,” Tony called out to the Avengers' residential Norse god, eyes rejoining his hands on one of the many tablets spread across his desk.  Long slender fingers flew across the surfaces of the tablets in a blur of movement as the engineer worked on finishing up a few little modifications on the engine.  All the while listening to Thor’s heavy footsteps as the Asgardian navigated his way to the back of the shop.  When the footsteps creased and Thor had yet to say a single word, Tony immediately saved the new specs and put the multitude of computers on standby before turning his full attention towards the tall blond.

Thor was in his full royal garbs, winged helmet included which did and didn’t surprise Tony at the same time.  The royal Asgardian had once confessed to him and Clint during one of their (many) drinking sessions that the helmet was to distinguish him as the Prince of Asgard.  The big kicker? Thor _hated_ the headgear with a _passion._   He had dented it, smashed it, hid it, melted it down, and completely destroyed the helmet on numerous occasions as a child, only for it to turn up the next day in his room as whole and perfect.  After the six thousand four hundred and twenty-seventh attempted at getting rid of the winged monstrosity (and Tony had been astonished that Thor had even bothered to keep count), he admitted defeat and left the helmet alone.

Instead, Thor forced himself to wear the despicable piece of headgear when it was mandatory for him to appear in full royal attire during his trips to Asgard and only then.  When the festivities were over, the god couldn’t get the helmet off his being fast enough.  Thus, seeing as how the blond had returned home to Asgard a few days prior in order to honor some dude who slayed a dragon (or something to that effect) and the fact the genius clearly remembered the Asgardian grumbling about wearing said stupid helmet as he was departing, Tony wasn’t really surprised he had it with him.  He was surprised to see Thor still wearing the helmet, seeing how there were no Asgardian festivities to be had in his workshop.

Add that with the way the Norse god was shifting his weight from foot to foot and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had Thor troubled. 

“What can I do for you, Thor?” Tony casually leaned back in his chair and let his eyes wonder over the Norse god’s imposing figure to the equally imposing four foot tall black dragon sitting with her long barbed tail curled around her legs looking rather amused.  This had the billionaire’s right eyebrow rising without his permission and the dark green eyes of the dragon seemed to glow with delight at his reaction. 

Okay, Tony was not sure if he should be worried or not. With Thor looking troubled and his dæmon, Rika, entirely too amused by her counterpart’s behavior that was never a good sign.  Now might be a good time to get the hell out of Dodge. Dubai was always nice this time of the year.

“Shieldbrother Anthony, I am in need of your wisdom,” the blond spoke softly, which had the billionaire's other eyebrow reaching for his hairline.

“You sure you want to come to _me_ for whatever this is?” the claws which dug into his skin at the comment, spurred Tony on.  “Don’t get me wrong, I’d be happy to help ya, Point Break, but I’m not known for my _wisdom_.” 

He was telling the truth too, as the media liked to point out every week, the CEO of Stark Industries did not make the best of decisions. Tony Stark was famous for his playboy persona and his lack of self-preservation, which were all bad decisions.  Just look at how he reacted when he was dying, there was nothing _wise_ about his choices. Nevertheless, when any of his teammates came to him for help, they never left empty handed.

If the Norse god needed tech advice or even some spare cash, Tony would be happy to oblige since he was the best person for those kind of situations.  However, the genius didn't think that was the case here and Thor might be better off going to either Bruce or Rogers for advice.  Hell, Clint and Natasha would be a better option than Tony for the sheer fact that they'd help people with personal matter before. The only time Tony could remember people asking him for his input was when they wanted his opinion on SI matters or dealing with some type of engineering problem and he knew that wasn't what Thor had come to him about.

“Nay, Shieldbrother, the others, while mighty warriors in their own right, would not be au fait with the wisdom I seek,” and here, Tony could have sworn he heard the Norse god’s voice break.  The taller man wasn’t even looking at him, but at the lab’s concrete flooring, anywhere but at the billionaire himself.  Brown eyes narrowed as he suspected that the sorrow rolling off of Thor was directed at him.  Clearly, Rain got the same feeling as he had, for Tony could feel the occupant in his lap bristle. 

They didn’t need anyone’s pity. 

“Well, okay then,” the genius kept his voice the same even tone as before, but his posture stiffened marginally as the Stark façade fell into place.  He had to keep telling himself that he was reading too much into Thor’s response and forced himself to tone down his public persona.  He wasn’t in front of the Board of Directors or any camera, Tony didn’t have to be cautious of what he said to his teammate (at least he hoped not).  “If you’re sure then lay it on me, MacDuff.”

“I know not of this MacDuff, nor what he would lay upon your person, Shieldbrother,” the giant blond voice wasn't quite the usual volume but it was loud nonetheless. Couple that with thin blond eyebrows scrunching together and a hand rubbing at his godly chin and Tony would have believed the other man was honestly confused.  He would have really believed, yet he didn't due to one facet.  Rika was attempting, and failing, to contain a snort of laughter.  “But I would be delighted to render my services if you do so need aide against this MacDuff and what he would lay upon you.”

Yeah, Thor was trolling him and Tony couldn’t help but relaxing into the timeworn chair, trying to hold back his own laughter.  The Norse god would have gotten away with his trolling ways too (which Tony was so blaming Bruce for), if it wasn’t for his meddling dragon.  That, and there was the fact the billionaire could _see_ said meddling dragon.  Any of the other Avengers and they wouldn’t have been able to realize Thor was taking advantage of his whole ‘I-know-not-of-this-realm-for-I’m-an-innocent-alien-god’ demeanor.  If only they knew what Tony knew, or in this case, could see what Tony could see. 

“Says the guy who met Shakespeare,” the genius grumbled softly, but there was a tiny hint of a smile on his lips and the twitching of Thor’s lips told him that he hadn’t said it quietly enough for it to go unheard by the Norse god. 

Instead of calling the giant trolling blond on his trolling ways, Tony leaned further back in his chair, being careful enough not to disturb the little red fox kit curled up contently on his lap.  Even though his dæmon had her arc reactor blue eyes closed and seemed to be asleep, the engineer knew Rain was far from slumbering contently (her claws in his leg gave testimony to that fact).  Still, he wasn’t going to disturb her. He was kind of enjoying the quiet without her ramblings.

The brunet brushed aside thoughts of trolling trolls that were all Bruce's fault and continued with their previous topic. “How about you tell me what ‘wisdom’ you need from me and I’ll see what I can do.  Or not do, if that is the case.” 

Just like that the friendly atmosphere slowly building due to their light banter came crashing back down.  Thor was once more appeared to be a kicked puppy and was looking anywhere but at Tony.  Blue eyes ended up finding residence on the ceiling as the blond's right hand came up to rub the back of his neck.  His dæmon wasn’t exhibiting her usually serene and peaceful behavior.  Instead, she was sitting as still as a statue.  An action which Tony had only seen the dragon dæmon do a couple of times when she was uncomfortable (and by extension, when Thor was uncomfortable); and even then, it only ever lasted a few seconds.  But here and now, the dragon was as stiff as stone while Thor was struggling to find the right words to express his dilemma. 

A hardened scowl crossed the god’s features and his jaw clenched tightly before his face relaxed at the exact moment Rika relaxed her posture. 

“It concerns my brother, Loki,” and boy, did that get Rain’s ears to flatten down in a heartbeat while her claws dug through the genius' jeans and into his skin in her feign state of sleep.  To be fair though, if Tony had ears like his dæmon, then they would have be in a similar state as his dæmon’s since Loki unnerved him almost as much as he unnerved Rain.  The reason for their mutual anxiety was pretty simple, if not a small, little detail which other people always overlooked.

Loki had no dæmon. 

The very thought sent a shiver of alarm running down his spine at the notion of never having lived his life with his dæmon constantly by his side, of forever being alone. Tony couldn’t image a life without his Rain. He probably would have lived a very different life if he didn’t have the dæmon's constant companionship and guidance.  It was something he never wanted to even consider, let alone endure.

“What’s the matter with Loki?” the billionaire automatically asked, trying to keep his voice calm and steady while discreetly threading his fingers into Rain’s red fur coat to reassure himself that his dæmon was still there, was still with him.  The little fox must have had the same feelings as him, for her soft fluffy tail wrapped securely around his wrist and didn't seem to be about to let go anytime soon.  Both giving and taking comfort from such actions their counterpart provided. 

“The guards the Allfather ordered to watch my brother’s cell have been reporting bouts of madness from him,” Thor began and Tony had to bite his tongue on a sarcastic comment when Rika’s growl pierced the uncharacteristically silent lab.  “Our mother sought out a treatment for Loki herself; hitherto she could find no fault with either his mortal vessel or his mentality.  Yet the bouts of madness have become more frequent.  None of the kingdom’s healers have been capable in calming him during his fits; fits which have increased in severity with every new incident.  Mother had him moved into solitary confinement since that seems to be the only place where he regains some of his lucidity.

“Alas, during the festival, I went to visit Loki to see with my own eyes of this madness,” the Norse god's voice became small, but it was the helplessness slowly creeping into his words which betrayed how uncertain the Thor was.  All the Avengers knew that despite the fact Loki had tried to invade the Earth, the Asgardian prince still considered the monomaniac his brother and would do all he could to help him.  This usually led to a discomforting atmosphere within the room, more so with the Black Widow and Hawkeye than the rest of the Avengers. Bruce and Rogers, on the other hand, were more understanding with the big galoot.  Tony himself was indifferent about Loki, seeing as the trickster’s actions were in the past and he was a futurist.  To him, the past was just that, in the past and it wasn't something to be bothered with.  

There was one thing the self-proclaimed futurist couldn’t leave in the past despite his best efforts; Loki's lack of dæmon.  Everyone on Earth had a dæmon, and those few Asgardians he met through Thor also had their own dæmon.  Hence, seeing the Frost Giant without a dæmon freaked him out no matter what the situation. If only people would stop bringing Loki up, he might actually forget.

In retrospect, what he said next was probably insensitive (which was the reason why Thor should have gone to Bruce or Rogers instead of him), but Tony needed to hear all the facts if he was going to help the Avenger’s Asgardain at all.  Hee couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out and had to hide the grimace when Rain’s claws dug into his skin once again.

“Well, what did you see?”  

Thankfully, Thor was quite like the billionaire in the way that they neither one of them had a thought to mouth filter at times and the tall blond didn’t seem to be offended by Tony’s bluntness.  Rika, on the other hand, gave him a disapproving look, one he had seen on his childhood butler’s and the man’s dæmon’s face countless times followed by exasperation since he and Rain never changed.  They were pretty much immune to such looks, so Rika's disapproval didn't affect him.

“My brother has indeed fallen into madness.  He has been plagued by the sight of unseen beasts,” the Norse god said, not boomed, but said so quietly that Tony had to strain his ears to actually hear the gigantic blond (and that was something the engineer thought he never would have to do with Thor).  “I have witnessed it with my own eyes and I fear I may have been afflicted with the madness which plagues Loki too. He himself told me so.  That I too have seen fleeting glimpses of them with my own two eyes has confirmed it.”

“Wait, _what?!_ ” the billionaire shot upright, his abrupt change in position had Rain scrambling for purchase on his lap, yet she was just as disconcerted as her counterpart.  Righting herself, she sat on stiff hunches, peaking through her human’s hands which were gripping at the desk with such force his knuckles were turning white.  Her eyes scrutinized the pair for the first time since their entered her and Tony’s sanctuary, looking for anything that would harm her pack.  Both Tony and Rain’s positions were a stark contrast to their previous laid back postures.  “ _Why_ would you even _listen_ to _Loki_?" 

Thor was taken aback by his Shieldbrother’s strong reaction; of all of the Avengers, Tony Stark always seemed like the one that cared the least for his teammates.  Yet, the Asgardian, like the majority of the world at large, always overlooked the rare peculiar behavior coming from the billionaire which never corresponded with his perceived character.  Rika and the other Avengers’ dæmons, on the other hand, saw behind the mask of Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries and playboy extraordinaire.  They were able to see the real him, his very soul.  So, where Thor felt touched at Tony’s uncharacteristic exclamation, Rika knew he always felt that way and her fondness for the Midgardian grew even more.

“Loki held forth to me all those who come near him are being stalked by great monsters with our every movement.  He claimed the monster stalking me was a trifling dragon.  One I have only seen a spectacle of beyond my own sight, never once able to see more than a flicker at the edge of my eyes.  I fear I will soon follow my brother into in a maddening state,” the Norse god sullenly regaled his reasoning for his onset of madness.  “Shieldsister Natasha has conveyed you went through a stage of Palladium Madness and were able to cure yourself.  I wish for your assistance in curing me and my brother.  The Royal Family of Asgard would be in your debt, Anthony of Midgard.”

“Thor knows not what he speaks of,” Rika spoke over her Asgardian, drowning out most of what Thor had said.  “He has contracted no illness.”

“Oh, thank god,” Tony sighed in relief, flopping back into his chair with such force that it gave a little creak.  Nevertheless, it explained Thor’s behavior and pity directed at the brunet.  The Asgardian thought he had gone insane and the genius was so going to have _words_ with Natasha.   She had no right to be spilling his secrets to everyone without his direction permission.  If he wanted people to know about his past, he would tell them himself or they could go read his S.H.I.E.L.D. file which had been heavily altered by a sneaky AI at his instructions. 

It was only a moment later when what Thor himself had said penetrated through his relief and the genius was back sitting upright while Rain’s ears were perked up in anticipation; her tail thrashing back and forth in utter excitement.  “ _Wait!_   Did you just say _dragon_?”

“Aye, Shieldbrother,” the Norse god confirmed, his words coated with uncertainty while blue eyes regard him with wariness as if he was going mad.  “The beast which has been stalking me, awaiting my death is a dragon.” 

Could this mean what Tony thought it meant?

“Awaiting for his death?” Rika bristled, the spikes on her tail flaring out and swinging dangerously back and forth.  Thankfully, the dæmon was aware of her surroundings and didn’t come in contact with any part of the engineer’s lab; that or she was just very lucky.  “If it hadn’t been for me, he would’ve been dead a million times over, the little prat!  Like I’d wasted all my hard work keeping the ungrateful prat of a prince alive to just go ahead and kill him myself.” 

Ignoring the enraged dragon’s rant, the smaller man all but leaped over the desk separating the two men, his own dæmon scrambling up his clothing to rest securely on his shoulders to keep from falling.  Grabbing the Norse god’s large meaty wrist with both of his hands, Tony started to drag Thor out of his lab (okay, it was more like pulling insistently at Thor’s wrist, leading the Asgardian towards their destination and him following of his own will.  It wasn’t his fault that most of his teammates were freakishly huge, strong, scary, or any combination of the three).  

Rika followed behind them, grumbling all the way about inconsiderate royal prats, which if Tony was not mistaken (something he rarely was), was an English insult. Meaning Thor, and by extension Rika, was spending way too much time with J.A.R.V.I.S. and he really needed to look into what information J.A.R.V.I.S. was giving the Asgardians now that he thought of it (or any of his teammates for that matter).  But that was another thought for another time.  Right now, he had more important things on his mind, like dæmons.  

* * *

“Come on, come on,” Tony urged the prince, pulling him into the semi-large library.  A library which was constructed a few weeks after Natasha mentioned to Steve – during a discussion of the evolution of literature for the period of time the soldier spent slumbering away under the ice – the lack of quiet reading space in the tower which she could enjoy a good book in peace.  The supersoldier had agreed with her and less than three weeks later, there was a library in the tower for their own private use that Tony swore was there all along when questioned about its appearance.  No one believed him, but all of the Avengers had taken advantage of its sudden appearance at some point during their stay, it was the only area in the whole tower where everyone respect the need for silence.  It was the perfect retreat for them to go and relax alone or in the comfort of silence. 

Once Tony successfully led him to the library, the genius waved Thor towards the sitting area with various different armchairs and settees arranged before a lavishly decorated hearth while he went off into the rows and rows of bookcases.  The brunet quickly disappeared into the maze of bookcases leaving the Asgardian Prince to stand before the hearth bewildered as he waited for his shieldbrother to reappear.  Thankfully, the Norse god could hear the constant mutterings of the genius as he talked to himself or else Thor would have thought the engineer had wondered off and left him in the library by himself.   

“Where is it?  Where is it?” Tony’s voice flowed from somewhere between the aisle of books followed by a piqued snort.  “Yes, I know we have a copy somewhere in here.  Yes, I’m positive we have one.  So where is it?” 

Although talking to himself wasn’t all that uncommon behavior for their genius billionaire playboy philanthropist; more often than not, one of the Avengers or Coulson would walk into a room to see Tony seemingly having a conversation with himself.  At one point, during some meeting with Fury, the one-eyed man had called him out on his random tangents, which had Tony superciliously informing the director that he wore a small comm unit in his ear and went so far as pulling it out to show everyone.  The fragile device was apparently a direct uplink to J.A.R.V.I.S. which the brunet wore in order to have someone around that could keep up with his intelligence at all time, unlike the people in the room (“Well, other than Bruce that is,” Tony smugly amended his comment.  “He _is_ my Science Bro.”). 

However, Thor had his personal doubts if his Shieldbrother was indeed talking with J.A.R.V.I.S. or if it was a leftover symptom of the Palladium Madness Shieldsister Natasha spoke of.

“Ah-hah!” Tony’s shout of triumph rang throughout the library’s confined space, bringing Thor back to reality as an opened book was shoved under his nose.  “Tell me what you see.”

Blue eyes crossed as the Norse god tried to look at the page thrust under his nose and had to take a step back in order to comply with the smaller man’s demands.  The book which was opened before him seemed to be a book on illustrations of some sort; it reminded him of the book Coulson had shown him and the Captain during some of their Midgardian history lessons.  That book had held images of the different cultures across Midgard and their various forms of art.  This book, on the other hand, seemed to be totally dedicated to images of different scenery with some Midgardian beasts. 

“There is a great body of water with a flowery plant growing underneath the surface,” Thor hesitantly describe the placid image.

Tony yanked the book back, scanning the page before the Asgardian could describe anymore, a frown on his face.  Thor watched on as the billionaire flipped through the book quickly, before going back to the page he had been looking at earlier, holding the book back up to the tall blond once again.  This time, Thor had to grab ahold of the book himself to keep the book from smacking him in the face in Tony’s enthusiasm. 

“Forget the background, just tell me what animals you see,” the genius demanded, letting go of the book to allow Thor to look at it for himself.  “How many frogs do you see?”

Eying his eager teammate, Thor wondered how this was going to help him with the onset of madness but did what he was told. He trusted Tony and believed the genius knew what he was doing.  Even if Thor couldn't wrap his mind around what the brunet was trying to achieve with his strange examination using a book of pictures.

 “I see four of the creatures Shieldbrother Clinton put in Shieldsister Natasha’s bed last winter,” the blond glanced over the book towards Tony in time to see a slight frown cross the man’s features before it disappeared.  A strange expression overtook the smaller man's features, as if he was studying something thoughtfully, before morphing into a cheerful smile.

“Are you sure?  Just four?” the genius probed, the excitement in his voice sounding strained and forced unlike it had been a few moments before.  Almost as if he was disappointed in Thor; disappointment which elicited regret to curl within his own stomach for causing the disappointment to manifest in his Shieldbrother.  “Look harder.  Concentrate on the page.”

Following Tony's instructions, blue eyes returned to the watery scenery on the page for a third time.  Looking at every leafy green pad floating on the water’s surface for any other frogs, examining all the white flowers to make sure no small frog was hiding inside their folds, and yet, he couldn’t see any other amphibian in the water.  Battle trained eyes rolled over to the small portion of shoreline which held small grey rocks.  There, nestled between two large rocks was a frog captured in mid leap as if it was jumping off the page.  Thor didn’t know how he had missed the amphibian the first time, but there was indeed a fifth frog.

Looking back up at Tony, the giant blond could already tell that the man knew he found the fifth frog, judging by the gigantic grin on his face.  A grin that was vastly different than the confusion painted across his own face.  Thor could have sworn there were only four frogs on that page just a second ago and to have missed such an obvious frog in mid jump was unlike him.  His usually keen eyes had aided him in his hunting trips with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif shouldn’t have missed such an obvious creature, yet he had. 

“Tell me how many birds you see,” Tony urged on, reaching over and flipping the page himself.

This time, when Thor studied the page, he was determined not to miss another animal again.  Blue eyes hardened, turning away from his teammate to focus on the book.  The current page depicted a jungle with numerous brightly colored birds in various stages of flight as well as perching on low hanging tree branches and vines.  As his eyes scanned over the picture the first time, he counted twelve different birds of various types.  However, Thor did not jump to answer Tony’s question.  Instead, he continued to stare at the page with the feeling he wasn’t _seeing_ something.  A feeling which kept on bugging him, forcing him to exam the page further until he spotted another two brightly colored birds on a low hanging vine up near the top of the page.    

“Fourteen,” Thor answered Tony’s earlier question, keeping his eyes on the two birds that just seemed to materialize out of nowhere on to the page.  He had to wonder if the book was some type of magical tome like Loki had, one with changing words and pictures when viewed at a certain time of day or with a spell.  Or the book could have been like one of the Midgardian magical boxes his team liked to watch preserved theatres on after hard missions, but Thor didn’t think Tony would use such a thing (especially something magical. Tony made it known on various occasion on what he thought of magic).

The whole process of flipping pages and asking the number of animals on the pages continued on until the end of the book. Each time Thor flipped the page, it became a little easier to find the correct number of animals and gradually, the number of animals that seemed to appear out of nowhere swindling down until they stopped appearing altogether.  On the last page of the book, there was only a copy of a black and white photograph.

The picture was of an older gentleman standing in front of a large house.  He was affectionately looking down at the small child just to his side, his arm place gentle on the shoulder of the tiny child.  Standing on the other side of the man was a large lioness, her head held high and her amber colored eyes staring straight into Thor’s own.   As for the child, there was a small lion cub curled around the child’s feet, its own eyes, like the other lion’s, were the only thing colored in the picture.  However, unlike the amber of the lioness’s eyes, the cub’s eyes were a brilliant blue. 

“What animals do you see?”

“Lions,” Thor answered without looking up.  His eyes were memorized by the shade of blue of the lion cub’s eyes.  He had never seen it anywhere save for light illuminating from the arc reactor embedded in his teammate’s chest.  “Two of them: a mother and her cub.”

“Well, that answers question if he can hear me or not,” and at that moment, Thor realized it had not been Tony who had asked the question.  His head came up slowly to stare into the same illuminating blue arc reactor’s eyes as those on the page before him.  It took him a moment, but Thor finally realized he was looking into the eyes of a small red fox, which was standing on top of the brunet's head in order to look the tall blond directly in the eyes.

“Rain, I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Tony chuckled warmly, gently removing the tiny creature from the top of his head and nestling the fox into his chest with one hand.   “I am not your own personal climbing post.”

Even as his Shieldbrother chastised the little creature, he proceeded to stroke the fox with a tenderness Thor had only ever seen Tony use with the bots down in his workshop and that was only when the man thought he was alone.  All Thor could do was watch as the genius moved across the room and reached up with his free arm to place his hand flushed against the portrait hanging above the mantle.  The portrait which Thor just now realized had the same older gentleman – maybe a little older than in the photograph, but still the same man – with the lioness painted across the canvas; a lion which he never remembered seeing in the picture before today. 

“Activation confirmed,” J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice rang out throughout the room as the portrait sank into the wall and slid to the side, revealing a well-worn brown leather bound book hidden inside the secret compartment. Tony wasted no time in taking the book off the platform it rested upon.  Offering the tome to Thor and, for some reason, the Asgardian prince got the feeling he was being presented with one of Tony’s most precious possessions.  It was for that reason only he hesitated to take the clearly loved leather bound book but he also didn't want to offend his shieldbrother either.

Setting the picture book on the mantle, Thor carefully took the leather tome from Tony with both hands.  On the cover was a golden plaque riveted into the leather proclaiming the title: 

 _Our Dæmons by Antavas_  

 _Antavas_ was something familiar to Thor, a little piece of home; it was an Asgardion name, one which a number of Asgardians held over the history of Asgard.  In fact, one of his grandfather’s advisors had been named Antavas and the man’s grandson, the current Steward of the Palace, was named Antonius, after his grandfather.  Before his departure to Midgard for the third time, Thor had been at court when Antonius had presented his son to the Allfather.  The loyal retainer had wish for Odin to place a blessing over his son and his father had complied, giving the baby a blessing as recognition for the steward's years of loyal services to the Royal Household.  Antonius had been thrilled to present the newborn, Antony, to the Allfather.  

And then, it hit him like a bilgesnipe: _Anthony_ was the Midgardian derivation of  _Antavas._

Blue eyes locked with brown and Thor knew instantly who had written the tome with utter certainty.  The book was written by the very man standing before of him, bouncing from foot to foot while hugging the little fox kit tightly to his chest.  His brown eyes were shining with an inner light of their own and the grin would not disappear from the engineer’s face anytime soon.

“Your brother and you are seeing the unseen, but they are no monsters.  They are our _Dæmons._ ”


	2. Vinr-Vættir are Dæmons

  _Excerpt from Chapter Four: The Difference Between You & Your Dæmon_

  _…even though your dæmon is an extension of you, that does not mean your dæmon is a mindless puppet of your whims.  Dæmons are a part of you as you are a part of your dæmon. They can - and do - think for themselves and form their own opinions and at times, your dæmon's opinion will differ from yours. Some believe this is why we have internal conflict while others disagree, what we do know is the conflict between you and your dæmon is only natural.  Nonetheless, it is advised that you and your dæmon try to work through those differences to prevent friction between the two of you._

 _The suggestion is necessary since there are repercussions for having any sort of negative feeling on either you or your dæmon’s part directed to the other half of the human-dæmon pair.  Long-term, these negative feelings can manifest into a range physical ailments.  There has even been documentation of those who cannot see their dæmon have similar reactions when their dæmon holds negative feelings for their human half, even though, they themselves are unaware of their dæmon’s existence.  These physical manifestations can result in the following symptoms…_  

_…my advice to you, before any real time can pass, it is best to make amends with your dæmon…_

_~Our Dæmon_

 

_Page 29_

_©  1991_

* * *

“Come on Point Break, we’ve discussed them before.  Don’t go giving me that ‘innocent-I-know-nothing’ look, I know you better than that.  Oh, what was it you called them again?” Tony asked himself, snapping his fingers and looking towards the ceiling.  The snapping also had the added effect of making the little red fox secured in the crook of his other arm to flatten her ears back and take a swipe at the brunet’s hand with her paw.  “Vine…vin… _Vinr-Vættir_! Yeah, that's it! … Or was it vinr-vættr?”

“Vinr-vættr is the singular form of vinr-vættir,” Thor mindlessly answered the obvious rhetorical question, which only earned him a faulty (for Tony Stark standards) withering glare.  With all the enthusiasm running through the small brunet's body, the usual harden businessman could not keep up the glare without the corner of his lips twitching upwards even as he tried to pull them down.  In the end, Tony gave up pretenses and allowed his lips to turn towards the ceiling.

“Yeah, that, vinr-vættir – Spirit Leaders, Spirit Friends, whatever the hell the correct translation is – they’re actually called dæmons.  Or, at least that is what they call themselves,” Tony explained waving his free hand in excessively elaborate gestures, trying to convey his explanation more thoroughly, but ended up confusing Thor even more.  

It took the prince a moment to disregard the sheer excitement rolling off his teammate in tidal waves and focus on the man’s words instead of his wildly extravagant hand motions.  When what the Midgardian said finally sunk in, the Norse god felt his heartbeat double, trying to burst out of his chest; his jaw dropped open on its own accord.  His Shieldbrother continued talking, unaware of Thor’s inattention as he tried to further convey an obscene amount of information, but it all fell on deaf ears as the blond was pulled into his own thoughts.

He remembered numerous different occasions when he had philosophical conversations with Tony about vinr-vættir and their preserved existence after the first disastrous discussion he had with the Avengers as a whole.  When Thor had initially brought up the Asgardian belief in the spirit guides to the rest of the team, he didn’t expect the conversation which had followed.  Natasha had scoffed at the Æsir's belief and promptly launched into a heated debate on religious beliefs in general and how they were just that: beliefs and nothing more substantial.   

Bruce had taken the Black Widow's side, citing many ancient civilizations and their correlating beliefs in the unknown.  The scientist went on to explain how each of these beliefs were proven false due to scientific discoveries and technical advancement.  Through science, ancient civilizations’ religious ideals were deduced to be nothing more than natural occurrences or were explained away as old wives’ tales with logical alternatives. 

Steve, on the other hand, had jumped to Thor’s defense, his own religious beliefs as a practicing Christian being called into question as well due to Bruce’s argument. The captain never took kindly to people mocking anyone, especially when it came to their religious ideals, even if they were different than his own.  Attention had soon turned towards the archer, trying to recruit the man to one side or the other but the trio was sadly disappointed. Clint had flat out stated he was not going to get in the middle of any type of religious argument and made a point to keep his mouth shut after he said his peace.  Attention then shifted towards Tony and by the smug smirk on Natasha's lips and the slump of Steve's shoulders, everyone knew what side he was going to join. 

Much to their surprise, instead of taking Bruce’s side of scientific fact, Tony had defended the Norse god’s belief with a passion.  Thor would never forget the faces Natasha and Bruce wore as the genius fought for the Asgardian belief when there was no scientific explanation or any credible proof.  Not that the genius cared what the others thought; he had backed Thor in his belief and that was all that the Norse god could really care about.

In all honesty, the blond prince had been just as surprised as the rest of the team that the genius had taken the pseudo-religious side of the argument.  Thor may not have known his new Midgardian teammates for long, yet he thought he knew the engineer well enough to know he should have been inclined to side with the scientific side of the debate unless there was solid evidence to the contraire.  However, the Norse god had been thrilled when he was proven wrong in his thoughts and Tony had taken his side.  It had been one of the reasons he had started telling the billionaire more and more about Asgard and his life in general without having to censor what he had to say in front of the non-believing Midgardians.  Furthermore, the debate between the team had been the true beginning of Thor’s friendship with Tony and not just the bond of Shieldbrothers, but an actual friendship between the two.

Coming out of his thoughts, Thor let out a gust of heavy air, before refilling his lungs in an attempt to steady himself.  “Shieldbrother Anthony, are you suggesting I have been gifted with the ability of unveiled sight?  A gift which has been rumored to have been bestowed upon the line of Heimdall?”

“Thor, I’m not suggesting anything,” Tony shook his head, lifting the fox kit up to his shoulder and allowing the tiny creature to climb the rest of the way up.  She wasted no time in making herself comfortable, wrapping her tail around the genius’ neck to steady her balance and rubbing her little head against the billionaire’s ear.  “I’m _telling_ you, you can see dæmons – vinr-vættir – whatever the hell you want to call them.

“The gift, as you so adequately put it, to see dæmons has been ‘bestowed’ on a small percentage of the Earth's population.  By my best calculations, it's about 2.04% of the population can see dæmons,” Tony picked up the picture book from the mantle where Thor had laid it earlier.  Long fingers used to working with delicate wires flipped through the pages of the book, stopping at the end of the book to stare at the black and white picture. He took the time to fondly running his fingers over the last page of the book as he talked.  “One of my... well, I’d guess you could call him a colleague, Dr. Strange has taught me a little bit about dæmons, but most of it I had to learn myself. 

“An-nd,” the brunet drew out, his lips twitching, “I’m getting ahead of myself.  It’s usually Strange doing these orientations, not me.”

As he spoke, Tony turned to face the longue area, making a motion to toss the paperback book onto the nearest end table, but the little fox nipped at his ear.  The playboy acted as if he hadn't been bitten, yet with how he aborted the motion and gracefully swiveled on his feet to face the mantle spoke differently.  Especially, when the billionaire placed the book down on the mantle right underneath the portrait, taking a moment to make sure it wasn’t going to fall before walking away.  Passing by Thor, Tony waved the Asgardian towards the lounge area to take a seat.  

“Come on, we should get comfortable if I’m going to be the one to tell you all of this,” the genius coaxed him as if he was a child.  “This could take a while.”

Thor turned around with every intention of following after Tony.  Only his path was blocked by a large mass of midnight black scales that made up the hide of a rather striking dragon standing on its hind legs. Green eyes were level with his own, giving the Norse god the chance to witness forest green eyes harden into cold gems and pupils narrow into catlike slits.  The creature’s nostrils flared out before it gave a large rumbling growl, causing blond locks to blowing back behind shoulders.

“Oh, don’t mind the dragon,” Tony called out to him, clearly an afterthought.  Even if the Norse god couldn’t see passed the imposing dragon to his teammate, Thor held the utmost desired to glare at the smaller man.  He only refrained from the urge because he didn’t dare move and further enrage the angry dragon.  “She’s your dæmon.”

Another vicious growl tore through the creature’s throat, before roaring straight into Thor’s face.  Giant bat like wings flared out, opening to their full length and sharp teeth stopped mere inches away from tearing into the soft flesh of his face.  The intensity of the dragon’s actions was a rather fear-provoking situation.  Yet, in spite of the obvious danger he was in, never once did the Asgardian prince feel threatened by the large dragon.  In all actuality, Thor felt an echo of annoyance (not rage) directed at himself.  Stranger more, the feeling was as if it wasn't his emotion, but at the same time, it was still a part of him. It wasn't hard to figure out the annoyance was coming from the dragon, his dæmon as his Shieldbrother Anthony called the spirit guide. 

With one last huff in Thor’s face, his dragon dropped back down onto all four feet and moved with a swaying motion of her (and how Thor knew the dragon was female was beyond him, he just _knew)_ whole body towards the grey cushioned settee.  Her tail thumping against the Asgardian’s leg before climbing onto her chosen perch and eyeing him expectantly.  It took him a moment, but he soon came to the conclusion his dæmon was waiting for him to take a seat in the armchair across from a grinning Tony.  The little red fox – which was most likely the man’s dæmon now that Thor thought of it – was currently curled up in the brunet’s lap, her piercing blue eyes shining in mirth.  He couldn’t help but feel his cheeks turn a bit red as he briskly made his way over to the armchair and took his seat.

“I believe she’s upset with you.  You did insinuate she was going to kill you after all,” Tony chuckled looking over towards the dragon – who was currently glaring at her counterpart and paying the Midgardian and his dæmon no heed – with a pointed look.  “She was really offended when you took what Loki had to say as gospel.”

Cringing at the recollection of his recent exchange with his teammate about that very matter, Thor felt the need to submit himself to his mother’s quiet wrath.  She continued to tell him time and time again he needed to reflect on the evidence presented to him, questioning the foundation of his knowledge, reflect on his own thoughts and ideas, and then speak.  Yet, her most important piece of advice had always been to be aware of his surroundings when he spoke.  As a prince – and the future King of Asgard – Thor needed to know who could potentially be listening in order to prevent offending dignitaries and inadvertently instigating conflict. 

Thor had done none of that. 

Instead, the Prince of Asgard had acted without thought.  He had gone to the one person he believed could and would assist him in finding a cure for the madness affecting his brother while he did not know the full details.  A man Thor had believed to have been able to cure his own madness yet he did not know the circumstance of his Shieldbrother’s madness.  Worst yet, he didn’t know who was in his surroundings when he spoke of his worries and ended up offending someone, just like his mother always warned him not to do.  This time, it had been his own vinr-vættr he had hurt with his hastily spoken words.

Iced surrounded his heart, steadily creeping through his veins into the rest of his body at the thought of offending such a respected creature.  Vinr-vættir were an integral part of the Asgardian culture and their society in general.  And he had gone and greatly wronged _his_ vinr-vættr. Thor needed to -  _had to -_  make amends.

“I regret to have offended you in any matter, Vinr-vættr,” Thor formal apologized to his dæmon, making sure to look straight into harden green gems colored eyes as he spoke to convey to her the sincerity of his words.  The dragon didn’t blink, but she did huff out a bit of smoke, laced with a few embers that sparkled in the cloud of black, in his general direction.  A moment later, she turned up her nose at him for a second time, yet her body position was slack and the barbs on her tail were invisible, camouflaged against the black scales where the barbs laid flat against.  There was an echo of compassion underneath the hint of irritation which Thor could feel in place of the annoyance he felt from earlier, a clear sign his vinr-vættr had yet to forgive him completely for his transgression, but the apology was being taken in to consideration. 

The chuckle, which came from the room's other occupant had the Norse god turning his attention towards Tony, who upon seeing inquisitive blue eyes waved his hand towards the dragon dæmon.  “Sorry, it’s just, Rika is usually the most mature of all the Avenger's dæmons.  Seeing her act like... well, like Rain, it’s amusing.” 

A soft snort was the only response Tony got from the dragon, but it was nothing compared to the aggressive reaction Thor received from his vinr-vættr previously.  The growl was softer, more for show than anything else and held a bit of what could only be labeled as fond exasperation. Almost like this was an age old interaction between his vinr-vættr and the Midgardian.  Yet, what intrigued Thor and held his attention was not their interaction, but the smaller man’s words.  

“Rika?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony's eyebrows knitting together as one while the left corner of his lips was pulled downwards.  “That’s your dæmon’s name.  Rika, she’s very proud of her name.”

“Rika means Eternal Ruler in my language,” the Asgardian prince said slowly, recalling some of the lessons one of the royal scholars had given him and Loki about the importance of names and their meanings.  “But I am curious how you, Shieldbrother Anthony, would know this when bestowing my vinr-vættr with a name.”

“Whoa, whoa, just stop right there,” Tony demanded, holding up his hands in the universal sign for stop.  “I haven’t named anybody.  Rika already had her name _way_ before I was born.”

“I must confess my confusion then. How have you come across the knowledge of my vinr-vættr’s name, if not giving one to her yourself?” Thor tone was uncertain while his nose scrunched up in an adorable fashion that shouldn’t have looked cute on a grown man but the Norse god was able to pull it off.  No wonder he could get away with trolling people so easily with such an innocent face. 

Blue eyes rolled at the absurdity of it all and Rain sat up on her human’s lap.  “We dæmons can speak for ourselves, thank you very much, and Rika introduced herself to us.  I’m Rain by the way, Dæmon of Anthony, Granddaughter of Goldwyn. It’s nice to finally be able to properly greet you, Thor, Son of Odin, Prince and Heir to the Throne of Asgard.”

“By the Allfather,” Thor gasped out, gawking at the small little fox who had spoken with a mortal tongue.

Rain cocked her head to the side, her right ear twitching for a moment before becoming still.  “I don’t understand. Why are you so surprised? You heard me talking a few minutes ago.”

“I don’t think he realized it was you talking, little one,” Rika addressed the confused kit, pointedly ignoring both of their counterparts. 

“Huh…  Asgardians are really strange,” the fox straightened her head.  A second later, she was jumping up, scrambling onto Tony’s shoulder and from there, up on top of his head once again; dodging the man’s hands as they tried to swat her off unsuccessfully.  “Hey, did I do the introduction right?  I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

“It was a splendid introduction, one befitting the Royal Court of Asgard,” his own vinr-vættr praised the tiny fox when Thor had not (could not) stop gawking at her.  Rain proceeded to run around in circles on Tony’s head, causing the man’s short brown locks to become a nest of tangles (which explained why the man's hair was perpetually messy despite how often he smoothed it down).  Thor couldn’t help but smile at his teammate’s vinr-vættr, one which was so open and expressive with her every thought, seeking approval for every action.  She was so unlike her counterpart’s outward demeanor. 

“Aye, it was a grand introduction indeed,” Thor boomed, causing the excited fox to give pause in making a mess of Tony’s hair and look towards the large blond.  “It was remiss of me and my duties to not reply in kind.  I hope you are not offended Lady Rain, for it is a great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

The fox stood still for a second longer, before she was once again bouncing around on her human’s head.  “Eh, you hear that Tony, he called me a _lady_!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” Tony grumbled finally grabbing his dæmon from his head and placing her in his lap.  This time he kept ahold of her, his grip loose but tight enough so she couldn’t run around, especially up on his head for a third time that day.  “And _you_ , Point Break, don’t go encouraging her.  She’s already spoiled enough as it is.” 

“You know, you’re just insulting yourself,” Rain tilted her head backwards to look straight up into warm brown eyes; her tail swishing back and forth, showing her glee.  The genius just rolled his eyes at the fox’s antics.

“Quiet you.  Me and Thor have important things to talk about,” Tony shushed his dæmon and turned his full attention to said Norse god.  “Rain gets this way every single time she meet someone who can see her.  Unlike other - _normal -_  dæmons who have become content with the status quo of not being seen, Rain hates having her existence being ignored.  So, I have to put up with her when she’s like _this_.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Rain’s indignant bark was drowned out by Thor’s booming voice.

“Why have _I_ been granted this sight of the unseen, Shieldbrother Anthony?"

“And that, Point Break, is what I’ve been trying to explain to you,” the genius said with a smirk, leaning back into the armchair and clasping his hands together in front of his face. However, the twitching of his right eye ruined the nonchalant façade he had going for him.  “If only people would stop interrupting me and let me explain the whole situation to you.  Or without tangents, tangents take us further off topic than interruptions do.”

Brown eyes pierced through the various dæmons and the Asgardian in the room, watching the different expressions shift across their faces.  Forest green eyes set in a face full of black scales, showed a little of the pearly whites of her teeth with the flash of a quick grin before she settled her head down on her crossed paws.  Her Asgardian, in contrast, had a slight tint of red dusting his cheeks and crossed and uncrossed legs uncomfortably, clearing his throat.  As for his own dæmon, the little red fox tilted her head back to look directly in to brown eyes with her own bright blue eyes once again, before cocking her head to the side and giving a little yelp of mischief, which was disregarded as Tony turned his attention towards Thor.

“Okay, so it’s best to start off at the beginning; which I would put somewhere around my first time meeting Dr. Strange, I was in my twenties… I think,” Tony began, his hands making motions to collaborate with his story.  “He was the first person I met who was able to see dæmons like me.  Unlike me though, he had a mentor to explain to him what dæmons were. Whereas, I had to figure it out all on my own.  Still, you don't know how much of a relief it was to know I wasn’t insane and all the animals I could see - which the rest of the world was blind to - were really there.  Strange and I met once a month after our first meeting, just to have someone else to converse with about dæmons and not feel like we were batshit insane.  Later, we learned there were other people out there like us, people who could see dæmons as well. 

“Apparently, there are some people out there who carry a particular brand of magic – Soul Magic I think Strange called it - that have the innate ability to see dæmons.  Only they usually don't have mentors like Strange did, neither do they take my route in studying the creatures to figure things out,” here, Tony took a moment to collect himself.  His hand reaching out to the end table on his right to grasp at nothing but empty space; it took his brain a moment to remember he didn’t have a glass of alcohol waiting for him.  As an alternative, he used the hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.  “Instead, many of these people were sent to asylums for hallucinations, shunned by social norms for what they could see that the universe at large can't.  

“They were the lucky ones in my opinion.  At least they stood by their beliefs and embraced their dæmons.  They had psychiatrists to talk to about their dæmons, even if the doctors don’t believe in dæmons.  The others had to suffer though their lives in silence, being able to see dæmons and not doing anything about it in fear of the consequences.  They had no one to talk to, to listen to them, about dæmons.  Always living in a constant state of anxiety, terrified of what others might think of them if they accidently slipped up and acknowledge an animal which wasn't there.  

“That was when Strange and I came up with an idea.  Well, it was more my idea, but he worked his magic to help make it happened.  The idea turned out to be that book,” at this point in his tale, Tony pointed towards the picture book sitting on the mantle.  “It was a simple _I Spy_ book, one which could find its way into any kid’s hands without raising any suspicions.  It was marketed in a way that if the kids answered a simple test and sent it in, they could win a cool prize.  The prize was another book.  That book to be specific.”

This time, the genius pointed towards Thor causing the blond to blink rapidly. Following the direction of Tony’s finger, the Norse god tilted his head downwards.  It took Thor a second to realize he was looking at the cover of _Our Dæmons_ , unaware he was still holding the book until that moment.

“Well, a modified copy of that book in any case, that’s the original and a bit too technical for any child without an I.Q. over 150,” the billionaire continued on, bringing the Norse god’s attention back to Tony.  The smaller man had since shifted in his seat, his chin resting upon his fist while his eyes were momentarily directed towards the portrait over the mantle.  “We sent the book to the children, in order to assist them in understanding what was happening to them.  Prove to them they weren’t insane, that dæmons are really out there and they didn’t have to be afraid.  It helped, for those that have been born with the ability at least.  Strange’s magic had something to do with it, lacing the books with some kind of spell to make sure they reach the intended recipients.

“However, there have been cases like yours,” brown eyes swept across the room, away from the portrait and towards Thor, who stiffened slightly by the lack of anything within those depths. “Where people have been coated in… exotic particles which have allowed these people the able to see dæmons.  For some reason, the spell Strange put on the books to reach the kids who needed them doesn’t work on those who have gained the ability through other means.  He told me it had something to do with the children’s innate magic calling out for help or some bullshit like that.  Meanwhile, these people don’t have magic of their own to enhance Strange’s spell – ensuring the book gets to them – and, instead, they have to rely on the miniscule amount of magic within the books themselves to find their way to those that need them. 

“It’s no wonder only a small fraction of these people ever get their hands on one of the books then, when they are the ones that need it the most,” Tony's eyes were once again drawn towards the portrait on the wall.  His free hand running through Rain’s fur a few times absentmindedly before the dæmon captured the hand with her forepaws and started licking the digits.  Rumbling came from the tiny creature, soothing the sorrow which lingering in the air. “You’re one of the lucky ones, Thor.  You have me to explain things to you.”

Watching the genius staring off into the distance, Thor could see the grief his teammate felt for not being able to help the unfortunate lost souls.  Even though they were from two different realms, the Norse god could find the same camaraderie he had with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif – which had taken millenniums to form – with the rest of the Avengers.  However, the man standing before him didn’t remind Thor of his Asgardian Shield Siblings, Tony reminded him more of his brother in so many ways.  The Norse god couldn’t help but feel a fondness for the misunderstood genius he didn’t feel with any other Avenger.  He didn’t want to see Tony beating himself up for doing the best he could, only to fall short. 

Even without looking, Thor knew his vinr-vættr felt the same.  He could feel a faint echo of melancholy pouring through some newly awakened connection between the two halves.  Be that as it may, the muscular blond couldn’t help but look out of the corner of his eyes towards the dragon.  Just in time to, witness Rika flatten the two elongated ear-like plates protruding out the back of her head down so that they were flush with the rest of her body.  A noiseless snort of smoke blowing out of her nostrils, dissipating within seconds, and for the first time since the conversation started green eyes met pale blue in mutual understanding.  

Neither one of them wanted the Midgardian nor his dæmon looking so empty and defeated. 

With that thought in mind, Thor leaned forwards in his chair, making sure his eyes were wide while his lips were partially opened.  “Are you implying your magic has brought me to you, Shieldbrother Anthony?” 

Blinking a few times, Tony stared at the large blond like he had never seen him before, which was when he busted out in a roaring laugh.  “Ah, hell _no!_   I’m firmly in the exotic particles category in my ability to see dæmons.  I have no magic to speak of, thank you _science_!  I _hate_ magic.”

“And yet, you’re always asking me to explain something magical to you,” Rika rumbled, sitting up on her hunches and shaking her whole body and stretching out her wings. 

“Excuse you!  That’s all for _scientific_ research,” the genius snapped back without any hesitation, yet there was no heat behind his words.  Almost as if they had this conversation a million times over (and all for Thor knew, they might have); either way, it was bring Tony back out of his withdrawn state and back to his usual animated self.  “And that’s not the point!  The point is I despise magic and we are going to educate Point Break on the existence of dæmons.  And I thought I said no more tangents, this is a tangent!  We are off topic, _again.”_

“ _Our Dæmons_ is supposed to do that,” Rain barked out having finished with her grooming of the brunet’s hand with a quick nip that had Tony jerking his hand out of the dæmon’s reach.  “It is why you wrote the book after all; to explain away dæmons and our behaviors. Unless I'm wrong, which can't be because _I'm_ never wrong.”

“And yet, we are going to help him,” Tony replied back, pitching the bridge of his nose.  “And so help me, Rain, we are going to help Loki deal with his new sight too.” 

The screech coming from the little fox was concealed by a loud thump from the _Our Dæmons_ tome hitting the ground.

It was quiet and then a soft murmur broke the silence.

“Thank you Shieldbrother Anthony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I told all of you this was going to be a slow going story. I have ideas, it is just getting from one idea to the other without things being choppy. Something that is giving me a problem lately, along with not having the time to write and when I do have time, I've been reading everyone else's lovely fanfictions. So yeah, that is my excuse, you all write better than me and I want to read them.


	3. Eye of the Falcon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not have a beta, and it has been pointed out to me that there are a few grammar errors (which some of it can be blamed on the evils of autocorrect, but not all). So if anyone find one, just point it out to me and I'll fix it. (That, or if anyone would be kind enough to be my beta, I would very much appreciate it).

_Excerpt from Chapter Four: The Difference Between You & Your Dæmon_

 

_…dæmons, although they have their own thoughts and ideas, have the exact same desires as their human counterpart.  Actually, it is unclear where the desire truly originates from.  Does the desire originates from the human half and transfers to the dæmon half? Or is it vice versa?  It could go either way, but in my opinion, it is a little of both.  Some desires which you have transfer over to your dæmon and some desires which originate from your dæmon transfer over to you.  Either way, your desires and wants are the same as your dæmon’s.  Your dæmon just might go about obtaining your combined desires in a different way than you would which  has caused quite a few problems for those who can't see their dæmons._

_For, essentially, we are our dæmons and our dæmons are us…_

_~Our Dæmon_

_Page 32_

_©  1991_

* * *

Clint was extremely tempted to shoot the next person he came across in the face with one of his arrows.  Better yet, he would use the arrow he had pinched from Stark’s lab.  Not only would shooting someone get rid of the chaotic energy festering inside of him, but he would also finally figure out the purpose of the arrow.  Two birds with one arrow, it was a win-win situation which were the best kind of situations. 

The only reason he wasn’t going to shoot anyone with the Stark Industries labeled arrow was because Stark had been a weapons monger at one point in his life and the arrow could very well kill someone or a lot of people.  He did not need to have any more blood on his hands (well, blood from allies that was, he had no problem with killing those who tried to kill him). Additionally, he most certainly did _not_  want to go back to the mandatory therapy sessions. 

Yet, the Messenger of S.H.I.E.L.D. was _not_ above shooting people with any of his nonlethal arrows.  S.H.I.E.L.D. procedures be damned.  If the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. were going to treat him like the scum of Earth then he was going to play by the same rules.  They could lose his paperwork as many times they wanted to, make him go through physicals evaluations countless of times, and _accidentally_ revoke his security clearance all they wanted.  Hawkeye was just going to pay them back ten times worse for every inconvenience they decided to throw his way.

Yes, Clinton Francis Barton was going to get his revenger.

“I’ll peck their eyes out, rip out their entrails with my claws and feed them to Lenny.  Or maybe Sage would like some too?”

Now, all he had to do was deal with his hallucinations.

Okay, so he might not have told the S.H.I.E.L.D. approved psychiatrist everything that happened to him since Loki tampered with his mind and made him a slave to the renegade Asgardian.  Clint had the sneaking suspicion if he mentioned anything to do with seeing things that were not there (especially talking animals), the therapist would find him unfit for duty at the very least.  At the worst, he would be sent to a government funded insane asylum for people who had worked in espionage and cracked under the pressure.  The asylum was the main driving factor for not telling a soul about the talking creatures. 

Working in a circus as a child had shown him what happened to people that ended up in an asylum and what became of them after being released (or escaping).  On a number of occasions, Clint had been cornered by the once ward of Cross’s House for the Criminal Insane, now the residential animal handler for the traveling circus: Kane.  As a boy, the archer had been forced to have firsthand experience with the raving tirades of a man only half there.  

The ringmaster of the circus had insinuated the man's behavior of being a functioning member of society for a portion of the day and an utter lunatic for the next second was the byproduct of the shock therapy sessions which had been forced on him.  However, the ringleader never cared about Kane’s behavior as long as he did his job and kept himself occupied - well away from paying customers - when he was in one of his moods.  The ringmaster would just turn a blind eye to the animal tamer when he occupied himself with Clint during his tantrums. 

What was worse was the rest of the circus followed the ringleader’s lead and turned a blind eye.  If he wasn’t going to help the little orphan, the other performers weren’t either.  They didn't care because it suited them. However, Clint had always suspected some of them enjoyed watching Kane’s sessions with him just as much as the animal handler did himself.  His brother, Barney, had tried to save him from the madman’s acts of violence, but a number of circus performers would hold him back, doing chores or other excuses to keep the teenager from reaching to his brother in time. 

There were a few occasions when Barney would make it in time to save his little brother from Kane. Those few times he was safe from the animal tamer's torturous whip, but it was never enough.  The archer would forever bare the scars on his back for Kane.  They would never compare with what happened to Barney.

Clint was still alive.  The same thing couldn’t be said for his brother.

Mentally, Clint knew extreme shock therapy and other kinds of _medical procedures_ (which were now classified as torture) were not used in American asylums anymore.  Humanitarian reforms and all the bad publicity had made sure nothing like what had happen to Kane inside the insane asylums would never be put into practice in the asylums of today.  Yet, he still thought of the half crazed animal tamer and his prickly whip every time he went in for a psych evaluation or even talked to a psychiatrist. 

During those times, Clint would withdraw from the situation and retreat into his mind when he was left alone with psychiatrists.  Only answering questions with enough information for the psychiatrist to clear him for active duty and nothing more, Hawkeye would then spend the rest of the time annoying the doctors until they couldn’t take his presence anymore and threw him out.  

Despite knowing there was something going on with his head, something Clint suspected had to do more with the Tesseract and less with Loki, the Messenger of S.H.I.E.L.D would not implicated himself as a person less than sane.  The archer knew he was out of his depth and he needed help.  Nevertheless, he couldn’t let go of his own deep rooted fears of asylums and their inhabitants. 

For now, the archer would concentrate on his current endeavor: revenge.  Those pathetic S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would never know what hit them.  He had plans, _big_ plans.  Soon, S.H.I.E.L.D. would feel the wrath of its Messenger.  They would rue the day ( _rue this very day!_ ) for ever daring to crossing the _Almighty_ _Hawkeye_.

“Clint, why are you laughing manically in the middle of the hallway?” Natasha enquired seemingly appearing out of nowhere, causing the dirty blond haired operative to chock on his laughter.  He tried to compose himself, straightening up and forcing himself to look like Thor when the last box of Poptarts was empty (and no, he hadn’t eaten the last package, no matter what Stark said.  The strawberry filling on his fingertips and crumbs on his lips had _nothing_ to do with Thor’s Poptarts.  And no, that was not a wrapper shoved hastily in his back pocket).  Clint wasn’t successful, judging by the way his S.H.I.E.L.D. assigned partner (and boy, didn’t the higher-ups regret that decision now?) was eyeing him.

Her short, bright red curls bouncing in the nonexistence and perfectly sculpted body clothed in the S.H.I.E.L.D. crafted uniform.  The suit's zipper only zipped halfway up, with the utility belt resting low on her waist, which was her usual provocative appearance.  One which Clint had long since gotten use to and stopped drooling over within a week of knowing her (granted, it still made for great jerking off material, no matter how many times he had seen her in that very outfit).  The grey cat which slinked through the hallway accompanying the superspy was only a somewhat new sight he hadn't gotten used to yet.  

A delicate red eyebrow rose over lovely green eyes, indicating she was still waiting for an answer.  But, it was the way she was fingering one of the many pockets on her belt, that let Clint know it was best answer her soon or face the wraith of whatever lie inside.  He knew what could be hidden within those seemingly tiny pockets and seen what they had done to the people who had annoyed her on missions.  The archer was not going to be one of those poor bastards.

“Uh, I was getting my inner Stark on?” Clint asked, more then said, cautiously.  His words rushed as he blurted out the first thing to cross his mind and cringing the next second as he registered _exactly_ what his mind had come for an excuse.  

A piercing screech came from the talking bird that followed the archer around constantly. 

“‘Getting your inner _Stark_ on?’ _Really_?” the bird screeched even louder – if that was even possible – hitting a new decibel, causing Clint to cringe.  Other than the small cringe, he didn’t react to the hallucination’s outburst, even when the large feathers from the bird’s wings came terrible close to smacking him on his head as it circled over his head.  “This?  This is why we don’t have any nest mates.  What’s the point of being bi, opening up our opportunity for the rest of the birds in the flock when _you_ go and do things like _this_?  We’re going to be alone for the rest of our lives and I’ll spend every minute of it blaming you.  Don’t think I won’t!  I want nest mates!  But n~o, you have to go and do things like _this_ ; we’ll never get nest mates this way.”

“I don’t know,” the grey cat commented on the bird’s lament.  “I think it’s kind of cute.”

Regardless of him actively trying to ignore his charming talking animal hallucinations while he waited rather patiently under Natasha’s securitizing eyes, Clint had to admit the cat had a very masculine tone of voice.  One which overflowed with emotion and the way the feline weaved its way between the Black Widow’s feet was light and carefree.  Its green speckled glowing yellow eyes held amusement in them, every time they glanced in his direction (or maybe it was the bird’s direction?  He hoped the cat didn’t want to eat the large bird, even if it was a hallucination, he didn’t want to see any animal violence.  He was a member of PETA).

Circling around his head one more time, the bird glided down and landed a few feet in front of the cat.  Talons clicking softly against the tile of the Helicarrier as the bird shuffled across the floor towards the feline.  Black beady eyes probed the shining yellow eyes, searching for something.  A moment later, the bird stood straight up, feathers fluffing up. 

“You think it’s cute?” the bird asked hesitantly.  And was that preening?  Clint watched the duo out of the corner of his eye as the bird definitely preened under the cat’s amused gaze. 

Pull his attention away from the two animals; the archer was just in time to see a small slip of red glossed lips twitching upwards before they were schooled back into the Black Widow’s customary position of neither a frown nor a smile.  “You’re inner Stark?”

“Uh, yeah, if I every decided to become a mad scientist?” Clint grinned, this time more sure of himself and his words.  Where that confidence came from, he couldn’t really pinpoint, but he just had the feeling that he was on top of the world at the moment.  A quick thought crossed his mind, which had a large smile busting out across his face.  “Hey, you want to help me terrorize some S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits?”

A small, almost unnoticeable wrinkle creased Natasha’s otherwise perfectly smooth forehead and the only reason the archer could tell it was there was because of the amount of time they spent in each other’s company.  It was her thinking expression, the one she used in public settings when she wasn’t playing a role.  The one she used in private though, Clint thought was cuter.  Not that he would tell her that, but he loved to watch her nose crinkle up and eyes furrow in thought.  

“Sure,” and that was what he loved about Natasha.  There was no demanding questions, no asking him why he wanted to terrorize their employers by messing with new hires, and there were especially no judgmental stare and disappointing looks; nothing whatsoever.  Just one analyzing inspection of Clint’s body posture and then a simple yes or no answer; no further explanation needed. Although, Clint was known to antagonize the famous Black Widow, if she did say no, until she gave in.  Or caused him bodily harm, whichever came first.

“After the meeting,” Natasha added, causing the archer to hold off on his victory dance and give his partner a very vacant stare. “With Coulson,” she continued to remind him, only to receive the same vacant stare for her troubles, which actually got her to roll her eyes.  The dirty blond haired man was dancing on the inside in victory for causing the Black Widow to show an outward sign of emotion. “Come on.”

Clint schooled his features into an unreadable mask similar to Natasha’s own and Hawkeye began to strut down the hallway side by side with the Black Widow.  Unseen to all but Clint (who was pointedly ignoring their very existence), a falcon glided on the air current provided by the Helicarrier’s ventilation system ahead of the two assassins with a grey cat darting underneath, hiding itself within the shadow casted down by the creature above.  For one brief moment, the two animals’ shadows merged the resulting image of a small winged Bastet.

The shadowy image only lasted a second, before the animal pair reached Coulson’s door a few yards before the human pair.  Despite the animals reaching the door before them by only seconds, by the time Hawkeye and the Black Widow arrived, the bird was perched on the door handle while the cat was sitting below it, grooming its head with its paws as if they had been waiting there for hours.  Hawkeye was cautious to grab the handle, not sure what his hallucination would do, but the Black Widow mistaken his hesitation for unwillingness to face Coulson like he usually did after he had  caused some kind of trouble, and grab ahold of the door herself.  The bird flapped its wings, flying away a split second before Natasha’s hand wrapped around the doorknob and twisted it open. 

“Why was Clint laughing like Dr. Doom?” the calm and collect voice of Phil Coulson asked even before the door was fully opened.  His flawlessly styled brown hair was the first thing either assassin saw as they entered the room, since the man was bent over his desk.  Obviously the agent was finishing his paperwork, his hand flying across the bottom of the page one last time before grapping the stack of papers, arranging them into a neat pile,  and setting them into the outbox.  Once finished with the task, blue eyes looked up at the pair standing in his doorway.

“How did you know about that?” Clint yelped his voice rising in pitch.  His head involuntarily jerked to the side even though he tried to stifle the reaction.  In the end, his whole body became rigid and tense like he had been caught red-handed.  Light blue eye widened at the gawked at a darker shade impassive of blue eyes.   “It just happened!  _Wait,_ I mean that never happened!”

“Sitwell called me sounding rather nervous,” Coulson explained blandly, making a motion towards the door with his fingers.  Stepping out of the doorway, the assassins walked fully into the office, Natasha closing the door on her way in.  Nodding his thanks, the agent fixed the bland cufflinks on his immaculate suit before folding his hands on top of the perfectly organized desk.  “He wanted to inform me one of my operatives was standing outside of his office, laughing like the last supervillain we apprehended and - naturally - I assumed it was you causing all the trouble.”

“Sitwell is lying!” the blond objected, crossing his arms over his chest and leaned up against the door, forcing himself to relax. “I wasn’t laughing like Dr. Doom.”

The agent wasn’t impressed with Hawkeye’s little display, the emotionless look he sent the Messenger of S.H.I.E.L.D. spoke volumes.  He had been the archer’s handler far longer than he had been the handler for any other Avengers.  Meaning, Coulson had more than enough time to learn all of Clint’s tells (Clint liked to think he still had a few tells the agent didn’t know.  Coulson just let him think that) and the overworked agent knew the man before him was not being completely honest.

“He wasn’t,” Natasha spoke up, bringing two pair of blue eyes towards her. During their conversation, she had moved to the adjacent wall between the two sides.  Her shoulders were pressed firmly to the wall, arms folded under her busty chest with one foot hiked up against the wall.  Only one pair of eyes though, could see the grey cat curled around her neck and the two birds resting on either side of her.  A snowy owl (damn those _Harry Potter_ movies for allowing Clint to recognize the bird on sight and damn Natasha for picking the movies during her turn on movie night) perched on a lampshade while the other bird of prey rested on a small bookshelf built into the wall.

A minor flicker of emotion passed across Coulson’s features (and wasn’t Clint on a roll in getting superspies and agents alike showing emotions?  Two-for-two!), producing a raised eyebrow demanding answers.  At the same time, the snowy owl twisted its head to look in the general direction of the other animals.  The cat, purring away contently, gazed back with half lidded eyes, while the other bird was looking everywhere but at the owl.

“I’ve have it on good authority he was laughing like Stark,” the redhead persisted, green eyes glittering in mirth as they darted between the two men.

" _Stark?_ ” the agent croaked out – muffling the startled hoot from the owl – opening and closing his mouth repeatedly before closing his jaw with a silent motion.  He shook his head, taking a moment to compose himself by adjusting his grey tie and settling his hands back on his desk.  “May I ask, why _Stark_?”

“He’s a mad scientist?” Hawkeye hazard a reason, eyes watching the falcon’s head retreat under one of its wings.

“He’s covering his ass,” Natasha, the grey cat, and the snowy owl all answered back simultaneously; and, wow, that was disturbing.  Clint’s hallucinations and his partner were all ganging up on him.  How messed up was his life?

“I can tell,” Coulson sighed, choosing to ignore the oncoming headache.  “Before I have to deal with the potential problems of two Starks, I have an assignment for the two of you.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. or Avengers?” the Black Widow asked, standing straight up while letting her arms unfold and let them rest at her sides.  The inner light that had been the cause of the beautiful glow to those green eyes gone within an instant, leaving behind dead pools of green in their wake.

“A little of both,” Coulson answered, pushing his chair back away from his desk with one hand.  His other hand, opening up the bottom drawer of his desk before pulling out two files and handing them to his operatives.  “Director Fury had his attention brought toward one General Thaddeus ‘Thunderbolt’ Ross and his questionable dealings.  Apparently, the man has been digging around into CIA, NSA, FBI, NCIS, FTA, and all the other alphabet soup of government agencies’ mainframes.  Although, Director Fury already knew about these discretions, he wasn’t aware of S.H.I.E.L.D. sanctioned files being breached by General Ross for a few months at least.”

“General Ross?  As the guy that has been hunting the Hulk down?  Hulkbusters, bazookas, and tanks included,” Hawkeye snarled, roughly flipping through his file, picking up random sheets every now and then – creasing the pages and in some cases, tearing the sheets of paper – before putting them back, continuing on further into the large file.  “The guy making Bruce’s and Hulk’s life a living hell?  That General Ross?"

“Yes, that General Ross,” Coulson replied blandly.

“Oh goodie!” Clint smirked, snapping the file shut and tossing it back on the desk.  Coulson snatched the folder out of the air and opening the file for himself, his fingers flipped through the pages, straightening out the creased papers and reorganizing the pages into their proper order.  “Nat, forget about terrorizing S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits, I have a _much_ better idea!”

“I would ask why you two were going to terrorize S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits,” the agent started, not in the least bothered by the potential disaster he had inadvertently avoided.  “However, I have enough paperwork as it is with whoever infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D.’s security to alert Director Fury to General Ross’s activities.”

“Stark,” Natasha stated with utmost certainty.

“Rain,” the grey furball meowed, startling Clint with the off the wall weather comment which had him looking for a window to see if the once sunny weather had disappeared.  A second later, the archer remembered he was in Coulson’s office on the Helicarrier and not in Coulson’s office in the Avenger Tower, meaning there were no windows.  It also called in to question his sanity since one of his hallucinations was predicting rain when there was only a five percent chance according to J.A.R.V.I.S. and the AI was rarely wrong about those sort of things (the last time J.A.R.V.I.S. had be wrong was because of Richard Reed's newest invention which had the whole climate on the eastern seaboard out of control).

“I wish it were so simple,” the agent sighed, shaking his head no, “but Stark deals with technology, the security feeds weren’t tampered with.  They were hardcopy files which were delivered to Director Fury’s office.  Not to mention the files appeared on director’s desk with him standing right there in the room.  Alone.” 

“So, not Stark, probably some kind of magic, good to know,” Clint hummed, waving off the importance of a few files getting through all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cutting edge security and right into the director’s office – with him in it – like it wasn’t a big deal.  To be fair though, the archer knew there wasn’t anything for him to do in such situations (Thor was their resident expert on magic) and his skills were better used elsewhere; like, taking care of General Thunderbolt Ross.  “We’ll be leaving now!  Don’t forget, it’s movie night tonight, my pick!”

Another sigh came from the agent, but this one was full of fond exasperation.  “ _Men in Tights_?” 

“For the fourth time this month,” Natasha added, allowing herself to be dragged towards the door by her partner’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“Yep,” Clint stopped at the now opened door to throw a smirk back at the desk bound S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

“I figured,” Coulson allowed himself to grin in return at the retreating pair.  “Natasha, you’re in charge of this op.  Keep Clint in line.”

“I’ll try sir,” Natasha nodded.  However, they both had been partnered up with the archer long enough to know that was a futile command.  Clint always had the tendency to follow orders he deemed necessary and ignore those he thought of as stupid.  It was the reason Black Widow had been taken into custody and recruited as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best agents instead of being assassinated by Hawkeye like the World Council had ordered.

“Just, don’t go blowing up any buildings,” the agent behind the desk tried to compromise with his operative, already knowing the answer. 

“I don’t make any promises,” Clint said, not assuring the agent in the least bit. “But I’ll try.” 

“You do, and you’ll be put on KP,” Coulson warned, knowing his negotiations with Hawkeye always needed to be backed up by some kind of threat as a precautionary measure.

* * *

“I would like to point out, I had nothing to do with that warehouse blowing up and taking out half the base with,” Clint growled venomously, crossing his arms over his chest as he fell back into one of the many seats in the quinjet.  A wince spread across his mud covered face when the buckle he hadn’t bothered to move out of the way dug painfully into one of his new bruises. 

“No, Legolas, that definitely had something to do with Thunderass stockpiling a bunch of _Stark Industries_ weapons,” Stark snarled throwing the helmet of the damaged Iron Man suit against the wall as he stormed passed the gathered Avengers and towards the cockpit.  Captain America, who had been following silently behind the enraged Iron Man, made to follow the man, but a delicate hand on his shoulder stopped him.  Looking over his shoulder, the supersoldier met the Black Widow’s calm features and watched as the redhead slowly shook her head.

Understanding, Captain America gave a terse nod and slumped down into the chair two seats away from Clint, setting his shield down next to Hawkeye’s quiver of arrows and broken bow.  Natasha finished closing the quinjet’s cargo doors and had just finish settling across from the archer when the aircraft gave a lurch.  Then, they were off; flying over the remains of what once had been General Ross’s not-so-secret military base. 

“You think Coulson will still put me on KP duty?” Clint asked hopefully, turning his attention towards his partner, who was already busy disassembling and cleaning her two favorite guns. “Since, ya know, it technically wasn’t my fault that the base was blown up?”

“Kitchen Patrol?  They still use that as punishment?” Captain America asked, the question distracting him from shooting longing looks towards the cockpit every few seconds and stilled his jittery fingers tapping against the gash in the material across his leg.  The wound there had long since healed by the serum flowing through the man’s veins but the material couldn't be fixed as easily. 

“Normally, at S.H.I.E.L.D., no,” the Black Widow didn't bother looking up into the wide blue eyes inside the cowl, her hands busy pulling the barrel out of the Glock 26’s casing. “However, Clint is the exception–” here, the aforementioned archer preened “–he hates KP duty more than anything else, so Coulson usually uses it as a punishment just for Clint.  Everyone else is either threatened by being put on a field training team under Hawkeye, you, or me depending on what their infraction was.”

“What?” the supersoldier all but shouted, scandalized at the notion the agents on his field team during training exercises were there for punishment.

“Don’t worry, your recruits usually are those with minor infractions,” Natasha shrugged using a rag to wipe off the excess gun powered from the barrel.  Her fingers working nimbly and effectively, speaking of the familiarity she had for the weapon and how many times she performed the action. “Don’t take it personal, Captain.  You just expect more from your trainees than the regular instructors do, you’re the peak of human perfection, the embodiment of American values, and a lot of the recruits strive to impress you.  They tend to work harder to reach the goal than they would have otherwise.  Hell, I wouldn’t put it pass some of the agents to deliberately earn their infractions, just to be put on your field training team.”

“I... ah... I…” Captain American stuttered, a pink flush appearing underneath the cowl.

“Don’t worry about it Captain, it’s just who you are,” the redhead paused in cleaning her gun, tilting her head up and giving the man a small (real) smile

“Thanks Natasha,” the blue-eyed man smiled back, slumping back down into his seat.  His head turning up towards the ceiling as an abort attempt to divert his eyes from looking towards the cockpit again.  Running his hand over his head, the man paused before pulling the cowl back a moment later.  Bright blond hair was left plastered against the captain’s head from the combination of the uniform’s cowl and the sweat from the battle.  However, it was quickly tousled up when the man ran his fingers through his hair. “You did well yourself today, calling in the rest of the team.”

“Yeah, it was either that, or let Clint blow up the building filled with Stark Industry weaponry,” Natasha's hands resumed cleaning her weapons, having paused momentarily by Captain America’s praise.  Her eyes darting towards the American hero, filled with warmth, before they were back on the handle of the Glock currently in her hands.

“And, everyone is obviously avoiding my impending KP duty,” Clint grumbled with just a hint of seriousness to his voice as he shifted in his seat only to wince again as another one of his bruises pressed up against that godforsaken seatbelt. 

“Coulson’s decision,” the Russian shrugged, “your problem.  I’d suggest you get on his good side.”

“Gee, you’re so helpful,” Hawkeye grumbled sarcastically, glaring at the Black Widow behind the safety of his sunglasses. Within a heartbeat, something small hit the bridge of the glasses on his nose, shattering the plastic.  The two separate pieces of what once had been Clint’s sunglasses hit the floor of the quinjet, while his blue eyes were staring at Natasha, mouth hanging partly opened.  He hadn’t seen her move.

A look of her own had the archer scrambling back into his seat and as far away from the Black Widow as possible.

“Uh... well... um, at least the Hulk got to let off some steam on the Hulkbusters?” Clint tried to quickly change the subject, missing the shared looks of bemusement between Captain America and the notorious cold hearted Black Widow. 

“He’s still letting off steam, crushing what was left of the Hulkbusters’ equipment,” Natasha replied as she finished cleaning the firing pin and began to reassemble both her Glocks.

“ _StarkTech weapons_ ,” Stark growled storming out of the cockpit and towards the cargo doors, “that should have been destroyed months ago."

“Not to be a downer, or anything, but shouldn’t you be _flying_?” Hawkeye shrieked, watching as the flickering hand repulsor slammed against the control console and the cargo doors cracked open.  Dark eyes turned briefly to glare daggers into the archer’s skull.  Clint could feel his own anger boil to the surface, hands involuntarily clenching into fists preparing for a fight.

“We’ve landed,” the billionaire barked as the cargo doors finished opening, revealing the hanger in the Avengers Tower.

“Oh,” Clint responded lamely, watching the retreating form of Iron Man - sans helmet - stalk down the ramp as most of the anger which had been building up had rushed out in a spur of disbelief.  The archer hadn’t felt the quinjet slow down, let alone land, which indicated how much the fight with General Ross’s men had taken out of him.  Still, Stark didn’t have to be an ass about it.

“Don’t. He’s on the edge,” his partner whispered as she walked passed him to exit the quinjet; clearly, intending on going after the enraged brunet.  The archer took an instinctive gulp, the rest of the anger he felt fully vanishing. 

He hadn’t known. 

Clint hadn’t known seeing the Stark Industries’ weapons had triggered a flashback. Now that he thought about it, Stark was clearly struggling with something.  The man was constantly building him and Natasha weapons to use out in the field, so the archer hadn’t thought it was that big of deal.  He had assumed the billionaire was overreacting when Iron Man had seen the amount of weapons General Ross had stockpiled.

Yet, Hawkeye hadn’t watch over his teammate as closely as he should have since Iron Man had clearly known about his weapons on the base.  He had even told them over the comms a few of the weak spots to aim for, the Armored Avenger just hadn’t known how many of his weapons there had been. The archer hadn’t seen any sign that Stark had been on the verge of one of his panic attacks, but looking back, all the signs had been there.  It was clear to him both Captain America and the Black Widow had noticed, yet Clint hadn’t.

“You think Thor’s going to have any problem getting Banner home?” Captain America asked; his mind evidently in a different place than on Thor and Hulk but he still tried to convince the Messenger of S.H.I.E.L.D. otherwise.  Yet the his eyes betrayed him, looking longingly after Stark with a wistful expression instead of giving Hawkeye his full attention like the courteous man usually did. 

“Nah,” Clint replied emotionlessly, his own heart sinking a little at his failure.  “They’ll be back in time for movie night.”

“Yeah,” the supersoldier agreed as Stark and Natasha disappeared down the hallway.  Only then did either of the remaining Avengers make any kind of move to pick up their discarded gear and disembark the aircraft.  “Thor won’t want to miss movie night.  He’s leaving for Asgard in the morning for Sigurdsblot.”

“Sigurdsblot?”

“Some minor festival to honoring Sigurd for slaying the dragon Fafnir and won back the treasure of the Rhine.  Or so Thor says, I’m not really sure.” 

“Uh, sounds interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was clear enough that this chapter takes place before the two previous chapters, before Thor goes to visit Loki and has his Madness Chat with Tony.
> 
> Also, Clint has taken over the story...so, don't be surprised if the next few chapters revolve around his POV.
> 
> Other than that, if you have read Seeing Your Soul, I hope you realized that the movie night they were talking about was the last chapter of the first story. If not, go read it (and review).
> 
> Oh, also, to borderlinecrazy, I got the chapter done as soon as possible as a late (really late now) birthday present for you. Hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Enchanting Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, but this story might be...I don't know, haven't touched it in years and just found that I actually still had a chapter which hadn't been posted but had been saved. So, thought I'd at least post it for now since most of my extra time has been devoted to another - massive - story I've been writing.

_Excerpt from Chapter One: What are Dæmons_

_Some have snidely asked me why I wrote this book: Why do I feel the need to explain the concept of dæmons when there was no way for me to quantify them to the world  and prove dæmons are real. I response with a question of my own: Why do people try to explain the concept of souls? They are unseen and unquantifiable, so why do people try to explain them? Most people get mad and defensive at my question, ranting to me that souls are there, even if they cannot be seen, souls are real._

_I can't help but grin at their defensive replies since they answer both their question and mine, since if souls are quantifiable, so are dæmons. Why you might asked? Since dæmons are our souls…_

_~Our Dæmon_

_Page 1_

_© 1991_

* * *

 

Clint paced throughout the Avenger Tower with the Peregrine Falcon (alright, so he had finally caved and looked up some of the species of his hallucinations, so sue him) soaring after him, debating with himself. He had believed, given time and a stable environment – as much as a stable environment as living with the Avengers could be considered stable – that his hallucinations would fade; that the number of talking animals would decrease. Add to the fact Loki was no longer around to fuck with his mind, the animals – which he would admit were cute to some extent – should have disappeared. 

Just the opposite happened though; the amount of animals he saw never decreased, but steadily began to increase. There were more and more of the animals appearing everywhere he turned. Where the hallucinations had only appeared around people he knew, now they had started appearing around everywhere he didn't know. Some of them talked constantly, like the duck which waddled after Sitwell, others never said a word, as seen by the silent Great Horned Owl (and yes, he had to do look up the owl’s species on wikipedia) ever present on Fury’s left shoulder, and there were all types in between, like the freaken dragon (which was the coolest hallucination he seen by far) which followed Thor or the bear that was always in Bruce's company.

Which was a part of Clint’s inner dilemma; he wasn’t getting better.

Clint knew he was getting worse; he also knew it is finally time to get some help dealing with the hallucinations. Disregarding the constant chatter of the Peregrine Falcon hallucination (it was the one hallucination which would never leave Clint alone), the archer paced throughout the tower; working to build up enough courage to go ask Coulson for help.  Moreover, he grounded himself to the tower’s floors instead of stalking through the ventilation system because the archer knew himself well enough to know that if he was in the vents, he would back out. He couldn’t afford to back out, he would talk to Coulson, ask him for help.

Stiffening, the Messenger of S.H.I.E.L.D. stood tall and walked with determination towards the western corner of the tower.

 _I can do this_ , Clint thought to himself as he stood in front of one of the many doors in the tower.

Yet this was no ordinary door. This door was the door which led to what had become known as _The Office._ It was the only door in the whole tower that no Avengers – save for Tony – would dare to enter unless ordered to by Coulson. For inside, laid the horror – a horror even Captain America would run from given the chance – known as the dreaded pile of paperwork. Pepper was the only other person who dared walked into the room without pause, and then, it was only to deliver more of the much dreaded paperwork to either of the room's occupants. No one got out of The Office without signing away their life or, at the very least, leaving with an excruciating hand cramp.

The scary thing was that Coulson – and Tony – spent numerous hours within the confines of The Office. Working on mission reports, reviewing requisitions and inventory lists, approving weapons requests from the Avengers, or any number of paperwork forms which had to be reviewed and signed off on. Paperwork which could only be signed off by the Avengers’ handler or - in Tony's case - the CEO or owner of Stark Industries . Furthermore, there always seemed to be more paperwork demanding someone’s attention and it seemed it was either Coulson or Tony taking care of it. 

Without further ado, Clint burst into The Office, finding the man he needed to talk with seated behind one of the two desks, doing the ever present dreaded paperwork. Behind the agent, balanced on a sleek silvery treelike light fixture, was the Snow Owl hallucination Clint had come to associate with Coulson’s presents. Neither one flinched at his abrupt entry.

“Hey Coulson, I–” the archer began strong, not sure what he was going to say, but determined to get everything out and into the opened, to finally ask for the help he needed. However, Clint trailed off upon seeing the residential genius billionaire playboy philanthropist seated at his own desk.

Logically, he knew Tony spent a number of hours within the walls of The Office, yet it was an unusual sight for Clint to see the playboy at the desk. Despite the unfamiliar sight of the brunet at his desk, his position was familiar to Clint. Tony was all but curled up on top of his desk. His arms folded over what could only be very important Stark Industries documents needing his immediate attention while his head was buried as deep into his arms as possible. Short dark chocolate brown hair was wild and sticking in all directions, his clothes ruffled and creased in several of places.

“Clint, what can I do for you?” Coulson asked completely ignoring the way the archer had trailed off. His pen did stop a moment when a slight whine came from Tony’s direction, but continued writing when no further noise came from the lump of flesh. 

Disregarding his handler’s question, since he didn’t want to say in front of Tony – even if he was clearly out of it – Clint focused on his teammate’s condition. “What happened to him?”

“Apparently, he stayed up all night with Thor,” Coulson answered as he placed a piece of paper into some kind of futuristic scanner of some sort.

“Doing what?” the archer had to ask, since he had seen Tony drink more than a bottle of alcohol on his own without it affecting him in the morning. “Wait, backtrack. Thor’s back? When did he get back from Asgard?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. picked up the energy reads of the Bifröst around the tower at 11:03 last night,” Coulson’s answered, reading the information from one of the reports on his desk. “I assume he arrived then.”

“No more… no more talking… Silent sleep. No noise. Go away,” Stark groan with a slight pleading tone to his voice, and when had he become Stark again? Hadn’t they gotten passed the last name thing the night Thor left for that Asgardian festival dealing with dragon slayers?

They had all gotten plastered together, which was one time of many since the formation of the Avengers, but it was the final straw needed to break down the barriers between teammates and into the grey area of friends, at least that was his opinion. Clint thought the same could be said for the playboy too. After all, the archer had finally been able to convince the engineer to call him Clint instead of Barton (when the man wasn’t using the nicknames he gave everyone). This had led to the demand the billionaire being called Tony if he had to call him Clint. 

Oh, yeah, Tony had become Stark again when the archer hadn’t been invited to his and Thor’s drinking party last night. He could have used some of that liquid courage to help him steady his nerves for today. 

“Long night, huh, Stark?” Clint snidely remarked, purposely raising his voice to a level which wasn’t quite yelling, but wasn’t his normal tone of voice either. Wishing for once his hallucination was real, since the loud screech the falcon let out would serve the hung-over man right. “You deserve the hangover for not inviting me.”

“No alcohol,” Stark groaned, burrowing his head deeper into his arms and away from the light, “just talk. Not Legolas safe topic talk.”

That was all that needed to be said, because somehow, both Coulson and Clint knew what he was talking about. They didn’t need to hear anymore of Tony’s (and it was Tony, not Stark) pathetic attempts to talk in his exhausted state. It didn’t take a genius to figure out their genius’ tired grumblings. Both agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. knew the topic of the conversation had involved Loki in some shape or form.

Instantly, Clint was no longer upset he hadn’t been invited. He was actually very thankful to Tony for talking with Thor down in the lab (or wherever this all-nighter took place, plus the three day bender Tony spend held up in the lab before that) about his brother and not involving him. If he had been there, alcohol would have definitely been necessary, which would have only made it worse with his loose tongue. Clint never held back anything when he was drunk and he knew it, which was the reason he usually only ever got drunk with Natasha before joining the Avengers.

“No more talk now,” Tony demanded pathetically, already drifting off into a light sleep to the soft cooing coming from the Snowy Owl. 

Clint stared at the rather wretched form of his teammate for a couple more seconds, feeling a little remorse. This wasn’t the first time he had misjudge Tony and he seemed to be making it a habit of being wrong about the smaller man. Previous perception of the media’s glamourized slant on Stark provided serious misconceptions for who Tony was behind closed doors. Leading Clint to discover he had been equipped to deal with the playboy, but he was ill prepared to deal with the engineer.

“Was there something you needed Clint?” Coulson asked, jolting the man out of his pondering.

“Yeah, uh... no... I mean,” Clint fumbled for words as his mind scrabbled for something to say. However, his mind could not come up with an acceptable story, going completely blank. In the end, the archer blurted out the only thing to come to mind. “I ate Thor’s last box of Poptarts.” 

The agent didn’t pause – just set aside a finished piece of paperwork and began on a new form – yet there was a resigned quality to his demeanor. “Why did you eat the last of Thor’s Poptarts? You still remember what last time, don’t you? Or did the head injury you sustain from the incident prevent you from remembering?”

“I didn’t know he was going to get back so soon,” Clint easily built up the simple lie. He would have to get rid of the last box after the conversation; then again that was no problem since he hadn’t had lunch yet. “You got to help me Coulson! I swear I didn’t know he was coming back today and there was nothing else to eat but Bruce’s granola bars and Thor’s Poptarts. And I was not going to take the Hulk’s breakfast!”

Coulson nodded along, humming in the appropriated places, stiffening slightly before shaking his head at the archer’s comment about the Hulk. No one wanted to deprive Bruce of his granola bars; apparently, as Thor found out, the Hulk really liked granola and strongly disapproved if he didn’t get it for breakfast. There was still a Norse god size dent in the kitchen wall from the Hulk’s displeasure.

“Thor wasn’t supposed to be here! You gotta help me!” Clint continued on desperately, or at least he hoped it sounded desperately. He wasn’t as good of an actor as Natasha was – who could fool even Nick Fury if she wanted too – but he hoped he was good enough to mislead Coulson.

Dark blue eyes looked at him through narrow lids and for a split second, the archer thought he would be called out on his lie. Thankfully, Tony came to his rescue.

“Shut up, Legolas, or I’ll demote you to Katniss and sacrifice you to Point Break.”

“Stark, we are not sacrificing anyone to Thor,” Coulson tried to reprimand the sleepy billionaire, but the man wouldn’t respond. Knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Tony, Coulson turned his attention back towards the other occupant in the room. “Fine, Thor’s Poptarts will be here within the hour. Sign.” 

A piece of paper – a requisition form – was handed to him, filled out for an emergency acquisition of Thor’s Poptarts except for a signature. Clint couldn’t help but groan.

* * *

More than two weeks had gone by since Clint was forced to derail his conversation with Coulson. As of yet, he had not worked up the courage to go through with it. Oh, there had been attempts, numerous of attempts, but each time he had backed out. Someone had always interrupted him. A person would already be in the room with Coulson, causing the archer to back out (hopefully) unnoticed, or someone would disturb them before Clint had the time blurt out his problems. Either way, he knew Coulson was getting suspicious, but he couldn’t help himself. Clint couldn’t ask, not when other people were around. 

Worse yet, Coulson wasn’t the only one to take notice of his odd behavior. The second time Bruce walked in on them – the shy man having to regretfully inform their handler Fury was looking for the agent – the scientist had profusely apologized to him after Coulson had left the room. Bruce had gone so far as to give the archer a pat on the shoulder after he had witnessed the train wreck that was Clint stumbling over his words. Steve had walked in on them three times, blushing before stuttering out any outrageous excuse before fleeing the room. After each strange encounter, Clint had lost his nerve to speak of his own embarrassment, and found his own excuse to leave. Thor had interrupted him and Coulson once and started sprouting off some speech about roses, sweats, and his lovely Jane; thankfully, Tony had been not far behind Thor’s interruption and ended up dragging the tall blond out of room, grumbling about lovesick idiots overtaking his tower.

It was only after a rather long conversation with Natasha that he found out why everyone was acting so weird each time they walked in on him and Coulson. They all thought he had been trying to work up the nerves to ask Coulson out on a date. Which he hadn’t been! But now the idea was stuck in his head.

The thing was, there were only two people who had ever walked through the fire for him, three if he counted the unknown person who got him out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s holding cells after the Chitauri Invasion: Phil (and oh god, he just called Coulson, _Phil_ ) and Natasha. Granted, he had to admit the four other Avengers were slowly rising to a similar position held by Natasha and Ph-Coulson; that wasn’t the point though. Ph- _Coulson_ and Natasha were the only people he could count on not to hurt him. They were the only people he fully trusted and he knew they held the same trust in him.

He trusted Phi- _Coul_ son – _Coulson damnnit_ – to look out for his best interest when fielding his missions. He trusted Natasha to have his back while gunfire and a honest to god cannonball whizzed by them on numerous battlefields. He trusted Phi-Coul – awe fuck it – _Phil_ to back him when he deviated from the mission parameters to the higher ups. He trusted Natasha enough to jump off of the nearest tall object, be it a building or a cliff, when she demanded him to jump, knowing she will be there to catch him metaphorically and physically in some cases.

And damnit, he trusts them with his heart.

“Fuck,” Clint cursed at himself, realizing that not only is he potentially in love with his handler, but also his partner. “Fuck, I think I’m in love with my best friends.”

“Finally! It took you forever!” the Peregrine falcon squawked, “I’ve known we’ve like Sage and Lenny for ages, but noooo. You just wouldn’t admit it to even yourself. Now… now comes the hard part. We need to get Sage and Lenny to see they like us too. Oh, this would be so much simpler if you could see me. It’s not fair; Rain has a human who can see her, why can’t I have a human that can see me?”

As fate would have it, before he could even question what the bird was squalling about (something he had never done before), the alarm was sent through the tower’s systems. 

“Avengers, Assemble!”

* * *

They had won and Clint reaffirmed his hatred for Asgardians (Phil would latter make him amend his mission report to read ‘Most Asgardians’). 

He had only met four Asgardians, but the statistics were not in their favor. Three-fourths of those from Asgard had tried to take over the world and two of them had messed with his head. Not to mention, all of them held a grudge against Thor. Loki for believing he was the true King of Asgard and Thor was an obstacle in his path for achieving his position. Then there was Amora the Enchantress, who had a crush on the Prince of Asgard and was pissed he didn’t reciprocate her feelings. As for the woman’s bodyguard, Skurge the Executioner, he was in love with the Enchantress and hated Thor for not returning the love Amora had for him.

Fury had cussed Thor out over the comm for bringing his love triangle to Earth during the middle of the battle with the two Asgardians. Not that the big guy took it to heart, since his heart was plummeting as the Enchantress summoned forth the ‘pathetic _Midgardian_ who has stolen her love’s heart’. That was when the battle went from Level II threat to a Level V as Jane Foster and – for some reason – Darcy Lewis, clinging tightly to the older woman’s side, appeared within the Asgardian’s spell, sending Thor into a Hulk’s size rage.

Thor, who had been teamed up with Hulk and Hawkeye to take care of the Executioner, abandoned his fight and flew towards Amora. Iron Man had barely enough time to snatch the Black Widow from where she had been grappling with the witch before Mjölnir smashed into the Enchantress. From there, the battle had deteriorated even further as the god of thunder fought blindly, causing more damage than Hulk and the rest of the Avengers switched off between fighting with the Executioner, protecting civilians, and trying to rein in their berserk teammate.

The Enchantress, in a last ditch effort, had sent a dark eerie green bolt of light towards the defenseless women she had summoned. Before the spell could leave her hand, Thor had dramatically thrown himself at the other Asgardian, screaming his fury. It was too late to stop Amora’s spell, but the force of the Norse god’s tackle caused the dark green bolt of light to veer off towards Hawkeye. Hulk had tried to intervene, throwing himself in front of the bolt, but it ended up with the two Avengers being engulfed in the eerie green light.

Both Hawkeye and Hulk had fallen to their knees, clutching their heads and screaming in excruciating pain. Hulk’s scream had turned from the inhuman monstrous roars to the shrieks of a human as Bruce made his reappearance. Soon after, both men collapsed. The whole ordeal only took less than a minute, but it was long enough for Enchantress to create a portal for her and the Executioner to escape through.

That was over seven hours ago, six hours since Hawkeye had woken up from the mental torture and escaped from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical facilities while the medical personnel worked to contain a newly emerged, raging Hulk. Clint had never been so grateful for Bruce Hulking out then when the scientist woke up. At the same time, he couldn’t help but also feel sorry for the man, since Clint knew why the scientist was forced to Hulk-out: The Enchantress’s spell.

The spell had been pure evil, forcibly going through his mind with the subtlety of a bulldozer and dragging out Clint’s worst memories. He was made to experience them again as if they were happening again for a second, third, fourth time. The archer had felt Kane’s whip strike his flesh on five different occasions six different times. He had seen his brother’s body fall to the ground, unmoving, with the light fading out of his eyes seven times before, in the middle of watching his brother die for the eighth time, his brain shutdown and he was left to the blackness of unconsciousness.

An abyss which faded away when nightmares began to plagued his tortured mind; nightmares of the talking animals, of his brother dying, of asylums, of everything Clint Barton feared the most all rolled into one. It was no wonder he woke up screaming – deafened by Hulk’s own roar – and rolled out of bed, prepared to fight. However, all of the orderlies were dealing with the green giant and took no notice of their other patient. A patient who ducked into the vents of the Helicarrier and stumbled through them to a hanger filled with various different airplanes and helicopters, including a fully fueled quinjet.

Within fifteen minutes of takeoff, Clint had landed the quinjet on the specially designed landing pad in Avengers’ Tower and had squirrelled himself away. Where he had sat for the last six hours with arms encircling around his legs and his chin resting upon on his knees. The quiver filled with arrows was situated on his right side and the bow on his left, for quick, easy access. Yet, the archer had not touched either piece of equipment since he had taken them off. His eyes were too busy staring off into the distance.

At one point during the six hour interval, the Peregrine falcon had flown around his head, trying to land on his shoulder, but Clint had rocked himself back to avoid the hallucination. Since then, he hadn’t stopped swaying back and forth, forcing the bird to stay off of him. Not that Clint noticed, his mind in too much of a torment to notice much else than the unburied memories which keep flickering across his vision every time he even so much as blinked. All the while, mutter a mantra over and over again, trying to convince himself of his own words.

“They’re not real. They are just memories. They’re not real. They are just hallucinations. They’re–” 

This was how Steve found the archer less than an hour later, sitting on the roof of the tower, a trembling wreck.

As a soldier in World War II, Steve had witnessed countless numbers of atrocities that came with war. Concentration camps had been one of the hardest – if not _the hardest_ – and not just because of the injuries sustained by the Howling Commandos when liberating the camps. There was also the psychological damage it had to each and every one of them.

Oh, they had been warned by other soldiers who had seen the inside of the concentration camps, but his men had brushed the warnings aside. The Commandos had been hardened not just by the war, but also by the time they spent inside of a POW camp themselves. They had thought they had experienced the horrors of the concentration camps first hand and the other soldiers didn’t know what they were talking about. The members of the Howling Commandos had been wrong, terrible wrong.

For weeks afterwards, Steve had nightmares of the emaciated skeletons which were the prisoners of the camp mixed in with the memories the POW camp his team had been imprisoned. He hadn’t been the only one. On more than one occasion, Steve had stumbled upon one of his men cracking under the pressure of their memories and bottled up emotions. Some had nightmares like he had, while others reacted like Clint; either way, as their captain, Steve decided it was his duty as their commanding officer and their friend to help his men. Be there for them when they needed support.

So when he found Clint almost in a catatonic state on top of the roof, he knew to approach the man slowly. Making sure the gravel rock roofing made a lot of noise under his combat boots to alert the archer of his presence. Steve needed not to spook his teammate. He knew from experience if he walked too fast and too quietly he would inadvertently scare Clint; Gabe had once given him a black eye – which only lasted an hour – when he had come up behind the man late at night during a panic attack. His teammate hadn’t known if he was friend or foe and with the results of a black eye, Steve had vowed never to make that mistake again.

“Clint,” the captain spoke softly as he kneeled in front of the archer. He hesitated a second, not sure how the archer would react, before lightly putting a hand on the dirty blond-haired man’s shoulder. Clint stilled, his muscle becoming rigged and ready to spring into action, yet his blue eyes slowly traveled up the arm on his shoulder. When blue met blue, the tension drained away while the archer's arms fell to his side.

“Cap,” the archer acknowledge him, yet Steve noticed the man wouldn’t meet his eyes again. Clint went as far as bowing his head and looking off to the side in order to keep his eyes from meeting Steve’s. The action had the captain sighing while his own shoulders slumped.

Letting the hand on Hawkeye's shoulder slide off, Steve stood straight up and walked around his teammate and dropped down. The grave roof was uncomfortable, causing the captain to shift around a lot, but once he found a semi-comfy spot, he settled down and leaned back. Steve made sure that his weight pressed firmly against Clint’s back. His eyes gazed out, off the top of the tower and into the false dusk which had set upon New York. 

The silence was deafening, but Steve didn’t try to speak. Waiting instead for a signal from the archer to continue; which came in the form of Clint leaning his own weight back against his captain’s back. Only then, did Steve dare speak up.

“I’m not sure if I ever told anyone this, but before the war, it was always me and Bucky. The two of us against the world, there wasn’t anyone else who we could rely on. The Great Depression was still on and the war was just starting, but Bucky always had my back until he was shipped out. Then, it was just me against the world, not that I ever let it get to me. I was a stubborn fool,” Steve gave a chuckle as he remembered continuously trying to get into the army. Not so that he could fight, but so that he could serve his country together with Bucky by his side.

“Then there was after. After war, after the serum, after the USO's Captain America, after Captain America’s first unofficial mission, after the formation of the Howling Commandos; everything had changed. No longer was it just Bucky and I against the world, but the Howling Commandos against the Nazis. They were my team and I soon had to realize that they were going to stick around; they were people I could rely on like I had been relying on Bucky. 

“While Bucky was always going to be my brother; I had a bunch of teammates who I could lean on. Go to them for anything when I needed help and they could come to me when they needed assistance of their  own. The Howling Commandos were a team and I had hoped you knew the same can be said for the Avengers. We’re a team; more importantly, Clint, you’re my friend and I want to help. 

“Although, I’m not like Natasha who can read you without saying anything, I need to know how to help,” Steve had to stiff a chuckle at his own poor excuse for a joke, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. “You got to talk to me.”

Steve had felt Clint gradually getting stiffer and stiffer against his back while he spoke, but near the end the archer went slack. His whole upper body weight seemed to be supported alone by the captain’s back. If the supersolider had to hazard a guess, he would guess that Clint was looking upwards into the darkening sky.    

It was only because of his super hearing that Steve was able to hear the snort of disbelief and the archer’s softly spoken words over the howl of the wind on top of the tower.

“Why do you care? You don’t see Natasha out here, so why would I need your help?” the words seemed to tumble out of Clint’s lips and the other man couldn’t help but wonder if he had actually meant to say anything or not.

“Like I said, we’re friends,” Steve answered, hoping that if he repeated his words enough times that the archer might actually start to believe them (which didn’t seem to be the case for a certain genius on the team). “Besides, I don’t think you’ve heard, but there is a reason for Natasha not being here. She’s been having a ‘chat’ with Thor after making sure you and Bruce were safe. She wasn’t _…happy_ with his behavior during the mission and was very… _keen_ on making her displeasure known. Not to mention, Agent Sitwell had to handle Ms. Foster and Ms. Lewis unexpected presence since Coulson disappeared. Tony said he saw Agent Coulson going after Natasha. None of them have been seen since. I don’t even think they know you snuck out of medical yet.”

A second snort came from Clint; this time, it was one of amusement as the archer leaned further back to get a better view of the number of birds soaring above. His head unexpectedly bumping against Steve’s but the soldier didn’t even react.

“I bet Tony followed after them, to watch the show,” Clint chortled, imagining the engineer stalking after their redheaded teammate to watched Natasha ream Thor out. Probably watching gleefully, since it wasn’t Tony’s ass in the crossfire for once. 

“I do believe he would have,” Steve chuckled at the image his own mind supplied of Tony trying to sneak after Coulson. He could just see Coulson walking down a corridor with Tony’s head peeking out from around the corner before ducking back and then dashing to the nearest opened door. All the while, Coulson seemingly unaware of Tony’s ridiculous antics until the agent would bring up the incident at a later date; because Coulson was just weird like that and seemed to know everything.

“But Tony was too busy yelling at the medical staff for their incompetence and their inability to read when some nurse suggested using restraints–” Steve chose to ignore the full body shiver from Clint when the archer grasped that the medical staff wanted to restrain the him “–on you and Bruce since we didn’t know what the Enchantress’s spell did. He’s actually had J.A.R.V.I.S. call me when he noticed you were missing, since he was busy trying to calm down the Hulk. So that leaves me to make sure you’re alright. If you want, I could call Coulson or Nat if you would prefer their company over mine–” and this time it was Clint who felt Steve slumping from his words and felt a twang of regret that he was the one to put it there “–but I don’t think they’ll be happy to know you’ve fled medical. Not when the doctors still don’t know what the Enchantress did.”

“They don’t know?” Clint asked deciding to pushing away the warm feeling blossoming in his stomach at the thought of his teammates’ looking out for himmind. Instead, he focused on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s inept medical staff.

Steve shook his head negatively, knowing the other man could feel it. “No, all the doctors could figure out was that your brainwave activity was chaotic and your heart rate reached critical levels that there was legitimate concern that your heart would explode in your chest. Although, shortly thereafter, your vitals dropped and they doctors couldn’t find any other physical damages other than a few bruises and some cuts from the battle.”

“Oh,” was the only thing the archer could muster up. His mind inadvertently going back to the memories dragged up by the spell, no matter how much he didn’t want to even think about what the Enchantress had done to him. When he couldn’t keep the memories at bay, he spoke up. “They were memories, Cap. She made us relive our worst memories over and over again, as if they were happening again. It felt so real and the hallucin–”

Clint bit down to keep from saying anymore. His body involuntarily jerking forward so their backs no long had any physically contact and pulled himself back up into a ball. The abrupt action had Steve turning around, reaching out towards his teammate, yet this time, he thought better of gabbing ahold of the archer. Clint was in no state to receive physical contact and just might lash out at Steve. 

“Hallucinations? Is that what you were going to say?” Steve asked, knowing he was being abrasive but he needed to know. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s doctors might have missed something and his teammate could be in dire need of medical attention or the Enchantress’s spell could have summoned some kind of demons to harm him which only he could see. There were numerous possibilities and all of them were worse than the last. “Clint, are you sure that the memories were all that the Enchantress did to you? That these hallucinations aren’t something else? Maybe it would be best if we went back to medical? Have one of the doctors check you out? Or maybe a magician, Director Fury has a list of magic users that he can call in at any time.”

The archer’s head jolted up and blue eyes glared defiantly at Steve for the first time since their conversation had started. “I’m sure, Captain, the hallucinations have nothing to do with that _bitch_. I’ve been having them for weeks, months now. It has nothing to do with her, even if it did, what point would there be for her to make me see talking animals? Other than to drive me insane with the fucking falcon who won’t shut up!”

“Talking animals?” Steve yelled, choking on the word and ended up sucking in a quick breath of air. His eyes widened while he wondered if Clint even knew what he was saying anymore or if he was blurting it all out, which Steve had to think it was the latter of the two.

“Fucking falcon? I’d peak your eyes out yo-ou…,” the Peregrine Falcon started to trill angrily, only to trail off at the implication. “Wait, you can see me?”


	5. Momentary Meltdowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all that dead, but the story is getting there.

_Excerpt from Chapter Two: Why Can You See Dæmons?_

_Why can you see dæmons? You may ask and I can answer that question for you. But the explanation can go one of two ways, for you see, there are two very different reasons why people can see dæmons. For me to answer that question, you have to answer one of your own. How long have you been able to see dæmons? The…_

_…if the answer to my question is that you’ve been seeing dæmon all your life, the answer to your question lies within you. Soul magic…_

_…just started seeing dæmons, the reason for your new ability can be contributed to exotic particles…_

_~Our Dæmon_

_Page 18_

_© 1991_

* * *

Clint could feel his chest seize up, constricting into a tight ball of tension and pain which lead to his respiratory rate speeding up exponentially. Colors and shapes began to blur together as the muffled sounds from the city streets below amplified, becoming unrealistically loud in the archer’s ears. Even at their current elevation, Clint swore he could hear the blaring of a car horn, followed by screeching tires and the sirens of an emergency vehicle as if he was standing on the sidewalk.

However, the worse sensation was the smog filled air. The heavier particles made it hard to breathe and it left a foul after taste with every breath he drew. Stifling gasps of the smog laden air had him gagging on nothing, yet, at the same time, it was impossible to get any air into his lung. It hurt too much to even breathe. Clint could feel himself suffocating as his body refused to take in the contaminated air. His throat was closing up and his body refused to do a basic bodily function and _breathe._ He thought of nothing else as darkness started to creep over him.

And then, there was a large hand pounding on his back, urging him to breathe, ordering him to take a deep breath: in and out, in and out. Praising him, telling him he was good, that’s Clint was good and he just had to keep breathing, in and out. The instruction was simple, his body automatically following the command of his captain. In and out, in and out. It was so easy, the archer couldn’t figure out why breathing in and out had been so hard only moments before.

Clint had no idea how long it was before he finally became coherent of his surroundings again, but when he did, he just wanted the ground beneath him to swallow him up. It had been years since he had a panic attack, long before he was even on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar and under there scrutiny. No one but Barney had known about the panic attacks, which only worsened after his brother’s death and he had been forced to deal with them himself. The archer had thought he finally had them under control but no, he had to go and have one in front of Captain _Fucking_ America.

“Better?” the still blurry blond asked, shifting positions as a hand was placed lightly on his shoulder instead of pounding on his back and giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. Clint had to blink his eyes a couple more times to clear the remaining blurriness before nodded his head, not trusting his voice at the moment. “You sure? I can take you back to medical if you want.”

“ _No_ ,” the archer hastily denied in a harsh, hoarse tone; shaking his head violently for good measure. “I’m fine, I swear. I... uh, I just...I need…It usually helps me if I have something to drink, ya’know, _afterwards_.”

“Come on, let’s get you some water then,” the soldier offered, and Clint had half a mind to express his need for something a hell of a lot stronger than water, but Steve was already hauling them both to their feet with ease a normal person would pick a daisy. Something the archer was ever grateful for (not that he would say it), since he knew how sturdy his own legs were at the moment and knew that they could not support his own weight. Steve, for his part, ignored the tremors coming from the body next to him, his eyes firmly fixed on the door leading off the roof and down into Avenger Tower. “I’ll make us both some lunch while I'm at it.”

Keeping his mouth closed, since it was what got him into this mess, Clint walked with his team leader, letting the slight taller man support most of his weight. Going through the narrow door and off the roof was a bit of a problem, yet they had managed. Although, the slight two-step shuffle allowed Clint to catch a momentary glimpse of the falcon, but a glimpse of the ruffled feathered bird was all he needed. The archer had quickly averted his eyes away from the piercing gaze of the falcon. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the bird was scrutinizing him, almost as if the falcon was truly seeing the archer for the first time. 

Instead, Clint firmly kept his eyes on the stairs before him. Incidentally, on another of the imaginary animals that were the bane of his existence. This hallucination he had only just started to see and began to associate with his team leader liked he began to associate the Snowy Owl with Phil and the cat with Natasha since it was always around Steve. Unlike the other hallucinations which all had been somewhat small in nature, Steve’s was a large, burly wolf. One that looked like it belonged in the wild but was currently trotting down the stairwell in front of the two humans as if it was a house pet. A large house pet that was easy to ignore, unlike the falcon.

Even without seeing, Clint knew the raptor was following them as well and it was not just from experience as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.; he could hear the gentle flapping of wings echo softly through the enclosed stair shaft. The falcon was not chirping and talking about nothing in particular, for once, and that had the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He could practically feel the raptor’s gaze fixed squarely on the back of his head. As if he was the prey to the falcon’s predator.

Things were about to change.

Steve lowered Clint onto one of the three stools at the breakfast nook before walked around the island. The archer watched as he began rummaging around the modern kitchen with a familiarity a man from the 1940s should not possessed. However, living with the man who built the cutting edge technology for the twenty-first century in his spare time for fun had sure given Steve an advantage. Although, Clint remembered, Fury with his hoard psychologists, psychiatrists, and everything in between had theorized Tony would give the captain a heart-attack with his mere presence alone. They had worked furiously to keep the playboy away from their newly unfrozen golden boy.

 _'That didn’t work out too well for them,’_ Clint though with a smirk, remembering how Tony had hijacked Phil from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s private medical facilities and whisked him away into his tower for a better treatment. Natasha and him had followed without any hesitation and, surprisingly enough, with no objection from the playboy (although, there had been enough from Fury to make up for the lack of complaints from Tony) and Steve had come along with them (which caused Fury to protest even more). As for Bruce and Thor, they were already at the tower, waiting for the rest of the team’s arrival. Bruce was finalizing Phil’s medical care transfer (Clint saw it as intimidating the doctors) and Thor had brought some kind of healing stone from Asgard as recompense for Loki’s deeds for Phil (he might have also seen the Norse god sneaking the man a golden tinted apple discreetly too). None of them had left the tower afterward.

Clint continued to reminisce the days after his release from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s imprisonment but before the hallucinations began, all the while watching Steve flutter around the kitchen grapping various items to prepare lunch. At one point, a tall glass was put in front of him, and without thinking, the archer picked it up and took a large gulp. He almost spit out the strong tasting liquid yet he somehow managed to choke it down. Once he could breathe again, Clint brought the glass to his nose and took a whiff of the clear liquid before taking a small sip to test his theory.

The taste was familiar as it burned its way down his throat and Clint couldn’t help but look at the back of the strained white shirt as if its owner had slighted him in some form (in Clint’s view, its owner had slighted him). Steve, with his back still turned to the archer, didn’t seem to notice anything as he chopped up some colorful looking vegetables yet, the way the soldier held himself told Clint differently. Huffing, Clint took another sip of his vodka and tonic, mentally wondering if Steve had used some of Natasha’s home brewed stuff or one of Tony’s thousands dollar bottles. Either way, the first drink went down smoothly and the second one hit the spot. He could feel himself relaxing and by the third glass, he didn’t even care when the damned falcon took up perch on the back of barstool next to him.

It was probably why Steve choice then to start speaking.

“Tell me more about these talking animals,” the captain instructed, setting down two bowls of what looked to be some kind of homemade chowder with only vegetables. Yet, Clint was too busy choking on his drink again to notice this.

“Don’t do _that_ ,” Clint reprimanded the large blond, “god, I swear you’re trying to kill me today.”

“If I wanted to do that, I’d call Nat and Coulson to let them know you’ve skipped out of medical,” Steve replied nonchalantly, taking a seat on the last remaining barstool. Pulling one of the bowls of soup closer towards him, the captain grabbed one of the two spoons resting on counter and dipped it into the thick creamy chowder. Meanwhile, Clint noticed the large wolf that had been following Steve around the kitchen as he cooked had taken a seat at the man’s feet, watching the two of them with bright eyes.

“If _I_ didn’t know better, I would say you’re spending way too much time with Tony. You’ve acquired a sarcastic bite that you never used to have,” the archer griped. Grabbing the remaining spoon and swirling the soup around, watching as waft of steam rose from the hot liquid. “What do _you_ get _up_ to down in that lab? All _alone_ with _Tony,_ no one around to bother you; just the two of you–”

The clattering and resonating ring which resulted from metal hitting a bit too hard against ceramic was distinctive as Steve’s spoon made contact against the bowl with way more force than necessary. If Clint hadn’t turned to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at the captain, he would have missed the flush blossoming just behind Steve’s ears. The archer did, however, miss the soft, almost miserable growl coming from the wolf by Steve’s side; a wolf who was currently directing an impressive pointed look, border lining glare, at the supersoldier. 

“I just sketch!” the blond quickly defended himself, his voice an octave higher. Eyes widening at the implications while the blush spread down the pale skin of his neck. “It’s nice down there; there’s nothing going on between me and Tony. I draw and he works on things.”

“Me thinks the good captain doth protest too much,” the archer teased Steve a moment before taking a bite of soup. It was still a little hot, but Clint had to admit, it was really good and probably a lot healthier than any of the can soups he habitually warmed up in the microwave while on missions.

“There is nothing going on between Tony and myself,” Steve denied, his eyes actively avoiding looking at the archer, gluing themselves to the ceiling. A deep breath and the disappearance of his blush later, the captain’s eyes were focused back on to the archer. “Besides, this isn’t about me. It’s about you and the dæmons your seeing.”

“Hey, I never said anything about seeing _demons_! Just talking animals,” Clint shouted, cutting off whatever else the WWII veteran had to say. His nostrils flaring out at the satanic implications for a moment before his eyes enlarged as he realized he had just admitted he was seeing things to someone else. Clint immediately clamped his mouth shut with an audible snap at his unintentional admission. The archer’s posture becoming ridged and he looked like he was ready to bolt, but Steve didn’t give him a chance.

“Not demons, _dæmons_ ,” the captain stressed the word waving his spoon around. “Them.”

It took a moment for Clint to realize that Steve was not pointing his spoon at him, but was pointing it passed him. His eyes had to follow the direction of the spoon pointed twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Because where his eyes landed was on the surprisingly quiet falcon which was still perched on the back of the barstool.

“You can _see_ me?”

“You can see _them_?”

The two voices seemingly imitated each other, becoming one in their combined shock. Both falcon and human openly gawked at the blond, the only distinguishable difference between the two’s postures was that Clint had his mouth hanging partially opened and the falcon’s beak was opening and closing with no sound coming out. The picture was only broken when the raptor let out a large squawked and turned a piercing glare on to the archer.

“ _You_ can see me,” the feminine voice screeched indignantly, wings flapping opened as the bird took to the air. Flying around over their heads, the falcon continued to squawk. “You thought I was a _hallucination_?! _CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON! How could you?!_ ”

The ranting only stopped when the raptor, true to form, dived boomed Clint at astounding speeds. Automatically, the archer brought his arm up to shield his eyes which was where razor-sharp talons sunk none too gently into his skin. Wings batted against his head and a sharp beak began to peck at his head.

“Ow! Goddamnit, that hurts, stop it,” Clint yelped, jerking his arm away from him and effectively pulling himself out of the falcon’s reach. “You stupid bird, that hu _r-t_.”

His last word was drawn out as his mouth ran off faster than he could think. It took him a moment, but Clint’s brain caught up to what his mouth had already iterated only moments later. He had been hurt. Hurt by a hallucination. Hallucinations couldn’t physically hurt him, but there were small scratches on his arm from the falcon’s talons. Three small scratches which blood had bubbled to the surface and dripped down his arm before clotting. Very real, very red, very impossible blood; unless…

“You’re real,” Clint gapped, his eyes working on falling out of his head.

“Of course I’m real,” came the swift irritated reply from the very real, talking falcon that sounded suspiciously feminine (Clint didn’t think a person could hear the gender of an animal from their voice. Then again, he didn’t think animals could talk either, so it was a moot point anyways). Feathers ruffling once again, but there was no other indication of hostility from the bird; only a curiosity. “I’m just as real as you.”

“Real?” parroted Clint, his mind having short-circuited and was caught up in a feedback loop about his hallucinations were real and therefore _not_ a hallucination.

“Yeah, she’s real,” Steve said, polishing off the last of his soup, which he had been eating while watching the newly united pair. “So is Heros and all other dæmons. They’re all real.”

“All real?” Clint questioned, looking away from the falcon for the first time and towards his captain before looking back at the bird still perched on his shoulder. “You’re real.”

“Yep, as real as the second shooter on the Grassy Knoll,” the falcon chirped happily and Clint couldn’t help himself as his head nodded up and down.

“Real, huh,” the archer muttered, leaning back into the barstool, resting his full weight there. His mind having been jumpstarted and running through the last few weeks backwards. Granted (even though he was actively trying to ignore them), his recent memories had more of these dæmons popping up all around until everyone he saw had them, if only wisps of animals of the people he didn’t really know. However, the further back into his memories, the more he realized that the number of dæmons grew smaller and smaller to the point the only one he was seeing was the Peregrine Falcon.

Clint just had an idea of when he first started to see the dæmon, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when. He thought it could have been when Loki had unmade him or afterwards, during his imprisonment at S.H.I.E.L.D. under the World Council’s orders. Either one was viable, but since he couldn’t remember most of what he did under Loki’s enthrall and afterwards had been just as much of a blur. With the lack of sleep and food and then Natasha pulling him out of the Helicarrier’s bowels with doctored footage followed by Tony’s sudden appearance with the information that Phil was alive, it was a wonder he remembered that much.

Still, that didn’t answer the question he sought within his own mind. He didn’t know if the information just wasn’t there or he wasn’t connecting the right dots to understand what was happening and those questions weren’t going to be found within the inky black eyes of the falcon. Instead, he turned his gaze away from the raptor towards the blue eyes of his commanding officer who seemed to have some of the answers he sought, if not all of them. Questions he needed answered and the first of which was on the tip of his tongue.

“How long have you been able to see the talking animals?” which was not the question he wanted to ask first, but Clint still found himself wanting to know the answer.

“They prefer the term dæmons,” Steve corrected getting up from his stool and the wolf at his feet mimicking his actions, following after him. The soldier walked over towards the large pot still on the stove and dished out a second helping of the chowder. “I don’t really know. I want to say since I woke up from–”

“Your stint as a Capsicle?” the falcon popped off, almost having her tail feathers bitten off by the wolf as Steve took a seat with his second helping of the vegetable chowder. The only reason the raptor still had said feathers was because she had launched herself into the air with a terrified screech when her piercing eyes just caught the predator’s quick actions.

“ _Heros_ ,” Steve reprimanded the wolf, giving the dæmon a reproached look which the canine just shrugged off and laying back down at his feet, ignoring his human. “Sorry about Heros, he’s touchy about ice.”

“Touchy? He’s a _ravenous_ wolf!” the raptor squawked from the air which had the wolf huffing at the accusation and Clint thought he heard a few choice human tongue that only sailors used mixed in with the animalistic growl. Once it was sure Heros was going to stay lying on the ground and not attack did the falcon finally stop flying around room and land on the archer’s shoulder. The weight was new and unfamiliar, one which took the archer by surprise when the raptor had landed, but it felt right. Like he had been missing an unknown part of himself, but it had been reattached before he had even realized it had been gone. It just felt so right.

“Uh, well, as I was saying,” Steve said uncomfortably, “when I woke up, everyone had a dæmon. I couldn’t look at a person and not see their dæmon; even myself. It was one of the reasons I was having so hard of a time adjusting to this new age. Yet, when I think about it, I can distinctly remember seeing glimpses of what I had assumed to be wild animals all over Europe. I would point them out to the other Commandos, but every time I tried, the animals seemed to just disappear. At the time, I just pushed it aside, there was more important things going on than random disappearing wild animals. We were at war.

“Now, though, now I wonder if that was the real beginning. Just glimpses of them every once in a while and I just didn’t notice. I didn’t have the time to notice, and then I was in the ice,” the captain explained. Clint listened intently; eating his cool chowder as Steve absent mindedly stirred his soup with his spoon.

“So, how did you deal with it?” Clint asked, spooning another bite of soup in his mouth. His eyes earnest, wonder how the man out of time dealt with seeing talking animals on top of walking up in a whole new century. The captain was dealing better than he was and Clint was only seeing these dæmons without having to deal with waking up in another timeframe. “I mean, you didn’t seem to be freaking out like I did, so how did you deal?”

Steve actually gave a little dry laugh, his eyes engrossed with watching the vegetables in the chowder submerge themselves as he swirled his spoon. “I think I would have, if not for the Chitauri Invasion and, horribly enough, if Coulson hadn’t been stabbed.”

“What do you mean?” the falcon asked, her voice a little shaky, since Clint had his mouth full with the last of his chowder. Yet, both their eyes were openly staring at Steve.

“If Coulson hadn’t been stabbed, I wouldn’t have left the Helicarrier to look for a gift for him and would never have stumbled across a small secondhand shop with the answers I was looking for,” Steve clarified, softly tapping his spoon against the side of his bowl in a slow rhyme. “The place had a large gaping hole in the wall from the invasion and was still cleaning the place up when I walked through the rubble. I couldn’t find a gift I thought was suitable for Coulson, but I did feel guilty for the damage done to the store during the invasion.

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave without buying something. I ended up just randomly grabbing a handful of the beaten up books from a partly destroyed bookcase and paid for them, before leaving. It wasn’t until after Coulson had settled in to the tower and Tony had made arrangements for us to move in as well that I even remembered buying the books. They were still in the bag and I flipped through them, noticing most of them were fiction when I came across one about dæmons. I couldn’t put it down once I realized it held the answers I was looking for. It helped me understand what was going on with me.”

“This book, it explained why we can suddenly see the talkin- uh, dæmons?” the archer asked, causing the falcon to look at him strangely. Clint had a feeling that if birds had eyebrows, she would be raising one right about now, as she pounded the same thing.

“Actually, there are a couple of explanations for why people can see dæmons. But for us, it’s because we were exposed to some form of exotic particles,” Steve answered a slight frown on his face. It was the one he got every time Bruce or Tony would go off on scientific rambles which no one could understand except for each other and sometime Thor. Clint thought there might have been a little more to the answer, but Steve just didn’t understand the cause of it himself and couldn’t explain it further. “I can actually lend you the book to read.”

“Yeah? That’d be helpful,” Clint replied, knowing that even if he did read the book, it might make just as much (or even less) sense to him as Steve. At least Steve went to college for some time (albeit it was for art, but at least he had some college courses under his belt before WWII started), on the other hand he, the Hawkeye, the Messenger of S.H.I.E.L.D. was a high school dropout. He hadn’t made it passed his sophomore year before dropping out. Well, it was more like he and Barney ran away to join the circus to get away from their abusive father who had, literally, got away with murdering his mother.

Still, the book would help.

“I’d like to know more about these dæmons; especially her,” the archer said, jabbing his finger towards the falcon on the opposite shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll be right back with the book,” Steve said, pushing himself away from the counter before getting up and heading out of the kitchen, Heros right on his heels.

Clint waited a half a moment after the captain’s figure disappeared before pushing his empty bowl away and pulling Steve’s untouched second bowl of chowder in front of him. Taking the first bite of his stolen food, the archer groaned as warm liquid hit his taste buds. Stole food always tasted so much better than anything else, especially when it was one of the other Avengers’ food (except Tony, since the genius didn’t eat unless someone shoved food at him) or Phil’s.

“So, what do I call you anyways?” Clint asked the dæmon, (his dæmon?) as he took another taste of the pilfered chowder. “Do you have a name? Or do I need to give you one?”

“I already have a name,” the falcon chirped sounding somewhat reproached at the insinuation.

“Oh,” Clint asked, his left eyebrow rising as his curiosity was peeked, “really?”

“Uh-huh, you don’t think just because you couldn’t see us, doesn’t mean we don’t have our own names, do ya?” The falcon asked, a faint, but familiar accent bleeding through her words and Clint couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Phil had been talking about when the agent had mentioned his Iowan accent bleeding through when he was annoyed with people’s stupidity.

Snorting, the archer rolled his eyes. “When you put it like that, it sounds stupid. So, what’s your name?”

“Gwendolen, but I prefer Gwen like you prefer Clint over Clinton,” the falcon answered as the captain and his dæmon walked back into the kitchen. His blue eyes immediately zeroed in on the two empty bowls next to Clint, who just grinned cheekily at the other man. It only earned him a huff and one shake of Steve’s head before the man out of time walked over to the counter.

“There was more in the pot if you wanted another bowl,” Steve commented drily, setting a thin, ragged and stain brown book down on the counter next to the archer before collecting the empty bowls and heading towards the half full sink.

“I know,” Clint gleefully stated, watching as Steve ran some water into one of the bowls, cleaning out the excess contents before letting it soak with the rest of the dirty dishes. He took the second used bowl back to the pot on the stove and dished out the last of the chowder into the bowl before rinsing the pot out as well. “But you’re tasted better.”

Coming back over to the island with his refilled second bowl of soup, Steve pushed the ragged book closer towards the archer. “Here.”

Clint took the book, noticing that Steve remained standing to eat his soup and couldn’t stop the grin which bloomed across his face. He didn’t even try to hide it as he opened the thin book and started to flip through the pages. Gwen leaned forward on his shoulder, looking over the book as well as he flipping from page to page without actually reading anything; her talons steadily growing tighter and tighter with each page. Finally, on the last page, two sets of eyes looked over the brim of the book and at the outwardly innocent captain leaning against the counter next to the sink as he ate his food. Leaning up against his legs, Heros had what could only be described as a smug look on his canine face.

“This is a children’s book,” Clint stated slowly, making sure the good captain understood his words, “for _children_.”

“I never implied any different,” Steve replied, finishing off his chowder and set the bowl sinking with the rest of the dishes. “It might have been written for children, but it helps with understanding the basics about dæmons. Besides, the format maybe that of a children’s book, but the author clearly wrote it with the intent for anyone to use it.”

“But... but... but... _there_ are pictures at the bottom of the pages! Pictures! For little kids,” Clint complained, thrusting the book towards Steve to show a little cartoon hummingbird shifting into a large bear.

“Well, then it should be your kind of reading material, what with the Maxim and Playgirls you so kindly left in my room last week. Although, I hope there will be no suspicious white stains on my book like there was on the magazines you so graciously lent me,” the captain retorted, making his way out of the kitchen with Heros on his heels. Leaving behind a floundering Clint who was trying to comprehend how the innocent, good hearted, blushing virgin Captain America had just implied what he thought he said. On the other hand, Gwen was too busy cackling uncontrollably in her laughter.

Finally, Clint gained his composure long enough yell at the disappearing figure. “You have been spending **_way_** _too_ _much_ time with Tony.”

“Do the dishes Clint,” was the only reply the archer received.


	6. Hero Worshiper, Thy Name is Darcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So notoneforreality intruded on Soul of A Druid to ask if I was going to continue to work on Antavas which reminded me that that was one of my few unfinished stories I hadn't working on in a LO~ONG while. 
> 
> So I set about rereading it and looking through my computer for the file itself. Sadly, I had started this chapter but no other outline existed for what I had been planning on doing with the story. So I finished the chapter but now I'm at a lost on what to do next with the story. Any idea/direction would be nice and helpful to get me working on this story again.
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank notoneforreality for reminding me to work on Antavas. Thank you!

Darcy Lewis was in love.

The college student wondered if Tony Stark would miss the large mattress.  The man was a billionaire, he could easily replace a mattress, it was like pocket change for him.  He probably wouldn’t notice until someone else used the particular guestroom next.  He couldn’t fault her for stealing the thing, it was like sleeping on clouds, not even the Tempur-Pedic mattresses could compare to this.  Good, she was in love and no man would ever compare to her love for this mattress.

“Ms. Lewis?” the synthesized voice of JARVIS quietly penetrated the silence of the room.  His politeness made the young woman smile as she rolled over and sat up.  The smile soon turned into a grimace at the grim and dirt she left on the white comforter and she hoped that Mr. Stark (“Call me Tony”) wouldn’t mind.  He told Jane, and by extension her, that they could crash at the tower until they could get back to New Mexico (where they had been before they were magically transported to New York) instead of in the cramped quarters of the Helicarrier or having to spend ridiculous amount of money (which she didn’t have) for a hotel.

They had taken him up on his generous offer, and had joined Ms. Romanov and Mr. Coulson in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s SUVs for a ride to the tower.  Tony had said he was going to stay with the Hulk until he had calmed down enough for Mr. Banner to reemerge before heading back to the tower himself.  Thor, apparently, had opted to fly to the tower; the twin disappointing looks coming from the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents might have had something to do with the decision when Jane had asked if he would be riding with them.

The drive had been slow, the traffic backed up more than usual because of the recent battle damage and by the time they had reached the tower, it was way passed lunch time.  Mr. Rogers (Captain America! Darcy’s inner fangirl all but squealed when she met the Captain America) had volunteered to make them a late lunch while they got cleaned up.  Ms. Romanov had been kind enough to led her to a lavishly decorated guestroom, since Thor had been too enthralled with Jane’s presence (which Darcy couldn’t really blame him) and was busy showing her to the room closest to his room (and did they think they were fooling anyone?  Jane was not going to be spending any time in that room).

She had only meant to sit down, maybe take off her shoes off before taking a shower, but it looked like she had fallen asleep.  Darcy hoped that she hadn’t upset Mr. Rogers by failing to show up for lunch, but, apparently, magic travel and being flung into the middle of a battlefield in midair took a lot out of a girl.  She wasn’t even sure how long she had been a sleep for.

“Yeah JARVIS?” Darcy asked around a yawn, stretching her arms out in two different directions.  Her eyes lazily scanning the room for a clock of some sort but found nothing (not even cameras which she assumed JARVIS needed to have to monitor the rooms).

“Mr. Rogers wanted me to inform you that there is a bowl of vegetable chowder waiting for you in the microwave when you woke up,” JARVIS politely informed her, the sound seemingly coming from the doorway (yet she still saw no speakers or cameras).  “Also, Ms. Romanov has acquired some clean clothing for you and left it on the back of the bathroom door.”

“Oh, uh, could you thank them for me please?” Darcy asked, her cheeks turn slightly red at the thoughtfulness of the two Avengers; especially Captain America because she stood him up (and oh god, that made it sound like she had a date with Captain America which just made her cheeks burn a brighter red) after he so graciously offed to make them a late lunch. 

In her mind, it was her that should be catering to her heroes (Thor didn’t count, ‘cause he was not only her hero, but a friend too) since they risked their lives almost daily saving the world from some sort of destruction.  Not the other way around.  The Black Widow and Captain America having taken time out of their schedule to help her out amazed Darcy to no end.  It made them seem, well, more human, which wasn’t to say she didn’t know they were human, but that they weren’t just superheroes she seen clips of on TV. 

Still, she felt the need to thank them profoundly for their thoughtfulness.  Just not in person (she would _so_ make a fool of herself).

“Certainly Ms. Lewis,” JARVIS replied, going silent as she walked into the bathroom (huh, there must have been no video cameras in the bathroom… _right?)_ and turned on the shower.  Although, Darcy wasn’t sure if the thing that took up the entire back wall could be called a shower, not with how huge it was an all the different heads in various positions around the stall’s interior.  She soon found herself stripped of her damaged dirty clothing and feeling all the various showerheads spraying on her body were just divine.  It felt like heaven and her aching muscles soaked up the warmth of the perfectly pressured water, quieting their complaining. 

Oh, Darcy could get used to living like this real easily, the cloud of a mattress, the heavenly shower, she had to wonder: was Tony looking for a new PA?  Ms. Potts and him had broken up some time ago, sometime after she had stepped down from being CEO of Stark Industries for a week (which, no one could really blame her, what with the Russian psycho at the Monaco Grand Prix and rogue Hammer Drones destroying Stark Expo), it had been all over the tabloids, and there could still be lingering tension in the air.  Darcy would gladly offer her skills as a newly graduate (okay, so a new graduate come next May) with a political science degree and ease their hurt by taking up Ms. Potts’s position while Ms. Potts could have some time to herself.  It would be the kind thing to do.

Washing out the last of the suds from her thick dark brown hair, Darcy stepped out of the shower and grabbed the yellow towel from the rack.  Dissolving into the soft cotton and warmth (it was a heated towel rack!), the college student dried herself out and pulled on the red shirt and black skirt left for her by Ms. Romanov.  The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had even been kind enough to leave a golden chain belt; all of which fit her perfectly (not to mention, they all matched the Black Widow’s colors, which was just perfect in Darcy’s opinion).

With one last check in the mirror, Darcy headed towards the kitchen. It took her a little while to find it, since she hadn’t been as attentive as she should have been when Ms. Romanov led her to the guestroom, but, in her defense, she'd been exhausted.  Still, she had to backtrack a few times and found herself in a library, a study, and some other rooms more than once.  It was only when JARVIS offered to direct her towards the kitchen that she wanted to hit her head against the wall for not thinking of asking for the AI’s help sooner.

“Ah, Friend Darcy!” Thor’s loud greeting met her arrival at the otherwise empty kitchen.  “It seems we have missed the midday feast, but do not worry, Shieldbrother Steven has left us a pot of hearty chowder to renew our strengthens and nurture our bodies.”

“Thor!” Darcy laughed as the large Asgardian swept her up into the biggest bear hug she ever had.  “Can’t breathe.”

“Ah, sorry Friend Darcy,” Thor apologized, letting go of the tiny (compared to him) girl, allowing gravity to take hold of her and brought her feet back down onto the solid floor.  Darcy stumbled over to the island and slid on to the nearest barstool to regain her bearings.  “I forget how fragile Midgardians can be, Lady Jane has to remind me of during our bouts of passion, when we-”

“Thor!” Darcy screeched, her face doing a rather accurate impression of a tomato.  She did not need to hear about her mentor’s sex life.  That was reserved for drunken nights of girl talk and shenanigans where she didn’t have to remember the things said.  However, seeing that the Norse god was looking at her with a confused look on his face, having been interrupted in his monologue, Darcy had to quickly think of something to say.  “I-uh-I’m hungry, haven’t eaten anything all day. Really, sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping to get some of that vegetable chowder Mr. Rogers has made before it got cold.”

The Asgardian nodded his head in understanding. “Forgive me for my lack of manners, I should have realized.”

Turning on the ball of his feet, causing the cape he still wore to swirl around his shoulders dramatically as he made his way across the kitchen, Thor began to bang pots and dishes together noisily.  While the large blond was busy, Darcy took the time to let her eyes roam around the state of art kitchen.  Half of the gadgets she saw, she could of faintly tell to be some warped futuristic versions of appliances she could vaguely recognized; whereas the other half of the gadgets she couldn’t tell what their purpose was, they looked so foreign to her. 

However, she wouldn’t mind figuring out what they were used for; one in particular, since it seemed to be some kind of futuristic coffee-espresso-latte machine all mixed into one small sleek little appliance.  She could tell that much about the appliance, only because she worked as a barista her second semester of college to help pay for schooling.  Her hands were already itching to get ahold of the machine, to make the sweet nectar of the caffeinated gods: espresso.

Before she could even make a move to get her hands on the silver appliance, an oversize bowl was set in front of her, filled to the brim with the thick creamy chowder like her grandmother used to make. 

“Here you are Friend Darcy,” Thor bellowed out cheerfully, a wide grin on his face for accomplishing his task of navigating the Midgardian cookery without assistance.  “You should feast until the strength you lost in battle has been regained.”

“Thank you, Thor,” the college student said between spoonfuls of soup, already halfway through the massive bowl which was obviously meant for the super heroes that had a higher than normal metabolism rate.  Although, they had nothing on poor starving college students (and scientists if Jane was anything to go by), Darcy would bet anything that she could eat as much as Thor, if not more after finals week.  “So, are you gonna join me or what?”

“I fear not, Friend Darcy, for I have promised to get Lady Jane a bowl of Shieldbrother Steven’s chowder while she washes herself in the magical indoor waterfall,” Thor explained, holding up a second massive bowl of chowder for her to see.  It took a second, but finally Darcy realized that the giant blond actually meant the shower and that there wasn’t actually and indoor waterfall in the tower (she had heard that Tony Stark was eccentric enough to build such a thing).  “I must return to my Lady’s side, but we shall have time to recount our battle bards latter.  Fair thee well Friend Darcy.”

“Farwell thee Thor,” Darcy tried to mimic the Norse god’s accent, failing miserably, but Thor’s smile made up for the horrible attempt.  With a little wave and flourish of his hand, the Asgardian was gone; leaving Darcy alone in the kitchen to finish up the last few bites of the terrific soup.  Once done, she turned her attention to the ceiling, looking for any signs of a camera but falling short once again. 

“Hey, JARVIS?” the college student finally asked, staring at one spot at the ceiling as if it was a person.  Her grandmother had always taught her to be polite and look at a person when talking to them, she just hadn’t taught Darcy how to deal with talking to an AI, so she improvised.

“Yes Ms. Lewis?” came the gentlemanly reply.

“Where are the rest of the Avengers?” Darcy asked curiously, before her eyes widened and she quickly reformatted her question.  “If I might ask that is, you don’t have to tell me if you can't. I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything if it’s classified.”

“It is no problem at all, Ms. Lewis,” and if Darcy didn’t know better, she would have thought the AI was amused by her reactions.  Admitting to herself, the failing of her arms at the end of her rambling was a little much, but she couldn’t help herself.  She was in her heroes home, she didn’t want to piss off anyone, especially the house itself.  “Mr. Rogers is in the gym, finishing up his second daily workout routine.  Mr. Barton is in the gym’s ventilation system, periodically interrupting Mr. Rogers’s workout and hiding from Ms. Romanov and Mr. Coulson. 

“Ms. Romanov is currently slowly making her way towards Mr. Barton’s location as to not alert him to her presence in the ventilation shaft parallel to Mr. Barton’s current location.  Mr. Coulson is on the phone with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical staff in his and Sir’s office, clearing up Mr. Barton’s escape from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical facilities.  As for Sir and Mr. Banner, they are still currently on the Helicarrier, waiting for the doctor’s approval to release Mr. Banner from their immediate care.”

“Any, ah-um – what is that term Coulson used… uh – ETA,” Darcy stumbled to remember the correct terminology.  Her grandmother and father (God rest his soul) might have been in the military, but she had never been a military brat and didn’t know their jargon.  “Yeah that’s it.  Was there an ETA on their arrival?”

“No Ms. Lewis,” the AI answered negatively.  “Was there anything you needed from them that I could help you with?”

“No, I was just wondering, uh, you can go back and do whatever you were doing,” Darcy said shifting uncomfortably in her seat and berating herself.  In truth, she had wanted to go thank Mr. Rogers and Ms. Romanov in person; however, since they were busy doing other things she didn’t want to bother them.  (Really, she was using that as an excuse not to approach them, she would wait until earth Thor or Jane were around to formally introduce herself to any of the other Avengers.)

“As you wish, Ms. Lewis; if there is anything you need help with, just ask,” AI said before going silent like he had before when she had gone out of range in the bathroom (she had to have been out of range, there was no reason for cameras to be in the bathroom). 

With nothing else to do, and it also being the polite thing to do, Darcy took her dirty dishes to the sink.  She stood there for a moment, deciding whether or not she just leave her dishes there with the rest of the dirty dishes piled high in the sink or wash them since she had nothing else to do.  Debating the pros and the cons, the college student decided that the pros outweighed the cons and left her dishes with the rest.  She was a college student after all and cleaning was against her very DNA (or any college students’ DNA if her dorm’s population was anything to go by).

Instead, she decided to roam the tower and get comfortable with the layout so she wouldn’t get lost like she had while trying to find the kitchen.  The college student reasoned that if she wasn’t supposed to be in the area, then the door would be locked, which was kind of the case.  JARVIS would kindly tell her that she was not authorized to enter some areas before her hand could even reach the doorknob (which only some doors seemed to have, other doors she couldn’t even figure out how to open since there were no doorknobs.  Those doors, she didn’t even bother to try opening).

Darcy even got to see Ms. Romanov and Mr. Barton sparring with Mr. Rogers watching from the sideline when she peeked her head into the gym.  Granted, it was really only a peek, since she didn’t want to be caught intruding, but it was still cool.  Especially for the reason that she come in right at the moment Ms. Romanov flip Mr. Barton over her head.

After witnessing that, none of the other rooms seemed as interesting.  Sure, there were a lot of luxurious and lavished areas with priceless pieces of artwork with equaling priceless pieced of technology mixed in, which was expected of the genius billionaire.  However, there were things that just did not fit the playboy’s imaged all over the tower’s penthouse.  The old framed posters of famous ballets were scattered among the works of Da Vinci and van Gogh and next to the state of the art surround sound system was an old fashion turntable.  Comic books were mixed in with chemistry books on the coffee table and some of the furniture had a distinctive Norse theme to them.  It shouldn’t have seemed as a cohesive space, but it was. 

With nothing else to do, Darcy decided that another nap was in order.  The problem was, she couldn’t find the guestroom Ms. Romanov had shown her to.  The college student knew that she could just asked JARVIS this time, but she was stubborn and wanted to find it herself.  She had already passed by it once in her light exploration, but she had been turned around and was now down a hallway with all the doors closed, san one.  Darcy really should turn around and continue her search for the guestroom, because she knew the opened door didn’t lead to her room.  But it was the one opened door in a hallway full of locked doors, it had her curiosity was working in overdrive. 

One little peek wouldn’t hurt.

The door was halfway ajar, causing Darcy to pause and waiting a half a moment.  When JARVIS didn’t say anything, she gently pushed the door open further.  The room was decorated with a large amount of gold hues with red drapery on the windows and the four post bed.  The furniture was all made out of wood or some kind of material she couldn’t identify.  Many of the items in the room were not of this earth or had the Norse design that she had come to associated with Thor.

It was obviously Thor’s room, which was kind of a letdown.  She would have left the room then and she was going to.  There was just the matter bumping into the table right by the door and knocking a thick well-worn book onto the floor.  She quickly picked up the book and checked it over to make sure she didn’t damage the obviously old book.  It was only when she read the title out loud did she freeze as her world momentarily crashed down around her.

“Oh. My. God,” the college student stammered out, gawking at the book she currently held in her hands.

_Our Dæmons_ , a book Darcy was very familiar with.  She and her mother had completed the little test in the back of an _I Spy_ book together during one of the many trips to the doctor’s when she was a little girl.  Her mother had laughed at her insistence on sending in the test to get her prize, fondly telling her not to get her hopes up if she didn’t win (her mother was sure she had miss counted the animals).  When the book had arrived, Darcy had immediately asked her grandmother to take her to the hospital to show her mother. They had read a little of the book together each time Darcy visited her mother before the chemotherapy sessions.

Her mother couldn’t see them, but Darcy had been happy to tell her all about the scrawny bunny by her side and the ever changing Tait she had affectionately dubbed Twitchy.  However, Darcy liked to believe that in her mother’s final moments, when her eyes started to glaze over and she looked right at the little rabbit laying with her on the hospital bed, she saw her dæmon for the first and final time.

She still had her own thin copy of the book tucked safely away in the dorm, the pages a little ragged from the years.  However, the book she currently held was much different than the children’s book she own.  This one was a thick leather-bound tome that when she flipped through the pages resembled more of a journal than a book.  Everything was handwritten in neat calligraphy similar to that of books written in the 1600s (she blames her Shakespearean class for being able to recognize such as script) and the pictures in the book were rough sketches of dæmons and not little cartoon like drawings which were featured in her copy. 

The biggest difference was that between the title and the author’s name there was a smaller script, a subtitle for the large tome.  While her book was simply _Our Dæmons by Antavas_ , this tome was _Our Dæmons: The Study of Dæmonology by Antavas_.  This was obviously the original copy with detailed journal entries featuring chronological discoveries instead of chapters arranging the information in an organize fashion.  Not to mention that this book was clearly more scientific based and a whole lot more comprehensive.

“I knew it!” the young woman all but shouted, spinning around as she clutched the book to her chest.  “I just knew there were more to dæmons.  They had to have had some kind of supernatural origins!  What more supernatural can you get then from an alien race?!  Thor can prove it!  And Thor!  Thor can see dæmons too!  Twitchy, we can finally talk with someone without looking like I’m crazy.”

The little brown flying squirrel, who had been riding on her head, gave a little chitter.  Yet, it was not one of his usual happy chitters, it sounded more like he was uncertain, which had Darcy rolling her eyes at his skittish demeanor.

“Oh, come on Twitchy, this is good news!  Why ya have to be such a downer?” Darcy asked, looking upwards without moving her head.  She wished she could look right at her dæmon, but he clinging to her hair a little too tightly.  “Owe, Twitchy, what has gotten into you?  Stop pulling my hair.”

“Dar~cy,” Twitchy chittered barely loud enough for her to hear his squeaky voice.  He was clearly scared, but of what, the brunette couldn’t figure out. 

“What?  What’s wrong Twitchy?”  What’s the matter?” Darcy questioned, her voice becoming softer with her concern.  Now that she was still and focusing on her head, she could feel her dæmon’s shivering on top of her head which only caused her concern to heighten. 

An audible gulp came from Twitchy, followed by one word.  “Door.”

“Door…what about the do-or, _oh_ ,” the college student trailed off when she saw what had her dæmon so worked up.  For there, standing in the doorway was Tony Stark, his own red fox dæmon leaning against his leg.  Both of them were looking straight at her with an unreadable expression on their faces.  “Mr. Stark, I mean, um, Tony.  I…um…it’s not…uh…the thing is…I was just….um…talking to myself…uh…yeah – I’m just going to shut up now.”

A single eyebrow raised and Darcy sunk into herself, letting her hair fall in front of her face to cover the blush already glowing brightly on her face.  She could feel Twitchy trembling on her head more violently than before but couldn’t do anything about it without looking like a fool in front of Iron Man.  Well, more of a fool than she already did.

“Seems to me you weren’t talking to yourself,” Tony spoke up (and did he sound like he was on the verge of laughing?), his footsteps barely heard over his own voice as he entered the room. “Looking to me like you were talking with your dæmon, Twitchy, right?  Nice to meet you, didn’t get the chance for introductions earlier, but what with most people not being able to see dæmons, it would have been a little awkward.”

If Twitchy hadn’t been holding on so tightly to her hair, Darcy would later swear the he would have gone flying off her head and across the large room.  As it was, she was too stunned by the revelation to even notice her own dæmon, because Tony Stark could see dæmons.

Holy shit.

“I’m Rain!” the little red fox barked out happily, weaving around Tony’s legs.

Darcy could only nod her head, because if she tried to greet the other dæmon she didn’t think any intelligible words would be coming out of her mouth.  Not anytime soon.  Thankfully Twitchy seemed to be able to form a somewhat cohesive greeting, even if it did sound more like a question than not.

“Hi?”

The little red fox seemed to frown at them, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary and there was a calculating look behind those intense blue eyes.  A second later, the look was gone and the other dæmon disappeared only for her to reappear over Tony’s shoulder as she climbed onto his head like he was some kind of post.  What was more was that Tony didn’t seem at all startled by the fox’s actions, more of resigned to being climbed on.

Now that Rain was on top of her human’s head too, she smiled (as much as a fox could smile) at Twitchy.  “Nice to meet you!”

“Huh, yeah, nice to meet you too,” Twitchy replied somewhat hesitantly, but Darcy could feel that he was no longer shivering and a faint sense of curiosity lingered between the two of them.

“You can see dæmons too?” the college student blurted out and then froze when she realized what she had just said.  How dumb could she get?  It was a stupid question, of course he could see dæmons, he had been talking to Twitchy only mere seconds ago. The silence in the room wasn’t helping either.

The laughter that came from the playboy helped even less.

“Oh, now that takes me back. Strange asked me the exact same question when we first met, even after I had introduced Rain to him,” Tony explained with a smile on his face and a far off look in his eyes.  “He didn’t believe I could see dæmons since I didn’t have an ounce of magic in me and without Soul Magic, people shouldn’t be able to see dæmons. I was a walking contradiction to him, being able to see dæmons but having no magic to speak of; I loved proving him wrong about his conceptions of dæmons.

“And I hate to break it to you, but until Thor came to Earth, he couldn’t see dæmons either.  So don’t get your hopes up on finding any supernatural origins there.  Dæmons are simple a physical manifestation of our souls.”

“That can’t be right,” Darcy bit her tongue before she could say anything more. She knew from her book that the author believed dæmons to be embodiments of human souls and as a kid she thought that was neat. However, as she grew older and things like magic and myths were pushed to the side as fairy tales, she'd thought the author was just trying to be fanciful in his descriptions of what dæmons were to help little children to understand.  

“You have read _Our Dæmons_ haven’t you?  The children’s copy, not this one,” Tony asks, taking the large tome away from her and began flipping through the tome.

“Well, yeah.”

“If I remember correctly, it says on the very first page of the book that dæmons are our souls.”

“Yeah, but I thought the author meant in metaphorically, ya know.  Like another way of saying dæmons reflect the true nature of a person that they try to hide from the world,” the college student tried to explain what she believed the author had meant.

“If I meant that way, I would have written it that way.  As it is, I wrote it the way I meant it, dæmons are the physical manifestation of our soul,” Tony said, holding out the book to an opened page, “here, read this.”

_Entry Title: Birth of a Dæmon_

Oddly enough, it was Twitchy who took notice of what the genius had revealed and in an uncharacteristic display, the squirrel burst out: "What do you mean, _you wrote it that way?!"_


End file.
